


Sacrifice

by Ebozay



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Commander Clarke Griffin, Dark, F/F, Grounder Clarke Griffin, More explicit than my other stories, Nightbloods, Role Reversal, Skaikru Lexa (The 100)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 20:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18836593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebozay/pseuds/Ebozay
Summary: Earth had changed. Nuclear fallout devastated the only planet known to harbour life and so the last of humanity survived on the Ark— a space station that housed the descendants of those lucky enough to be in Earth’s orbit when the bombs fell. For those who called the Ark home life was a constant battle between maintaining its systems and hoping that the Earth would one day become habitable again.But after more than a century time was running out for the Ark and so one hundred volunteers were sent to the ground in the hopes of discovering if the Earth could sustain human life.Lexa was amongst those volunteers. But what she discovered on the ground shook her beliefs to the core and set her on a path of life and death, love and hate.





	1. Prologue

Lexa’s feet ached, her legs felt heavy, her arms liquid and weak. Sweat dripped from her brow and she cursed as she tripped over something she couldn’t see, as she stumbled and tried to find her feet.

“Get up.”

The woman’s voice came from somewhere behind her and she felt the press of that same knife edge between her shoulder blades and she recognised the threat for what it was. Bellamy must have stumbled beside her too, for she heard him groan, she heard him curse and splutter past the gag forced into his mouth.

“Move.”

Again the woman behind pushed her forward with the knife, and not for the first time Lexa resented the fact that she couldn’t see where she walked.

“Stop.”

The woman pulled her back with a sharp tug of the rope binding her hands behind her back.

“Try it,” and this time Lexa was sure the woman spoke to Bellamy. “I would enjoy beating you again,” and Lexa couldn’t help but to recoil from the lightness in the woman’s voice, in the pleasure she seemed to get from causing pain, from inflicting wounds and suffering.

But Bellamy must have submitted, must have backed down from whatever foolish endeavour he had thought of for she heard a chuckle, a laugh, something light, something disappointed.

“Perhaps next time.”

Fabrics, furs and leathers rustled in front of Lexa, and from the sound, from the breeze of air she felt across her cheeks, she thought they must have arrived at their final destination.

“Ontari,” a new voice said, this one male, deep, more rumbled growl than spoken word.

“Gustus,” the woman behind her answered.

“These are the prisoners?”

“Yes.”

“Heda is waiting.”

Lexa didn’t quite know who or what Heda was, all she knew was that they were important and that her heart began to beat more furiously in her chest, that her palms were sweating and that her skin felt clammy. She was sure that now, as she was ushered into what she thought to be a tent, that she had chosen wrong, that she had made the wrong decision, had done nothing but bring her death closer than it had been just days earlier. But Lexa stamped down those fears as quickly as they formed, if only because there was no turning back.

And so she squared her shoulders, ironed her resolve and promised herself not to regret whatever was to come next.

There was commotion though, something quick, rough and violent. Bellamy grunted and gasped out behind her, she heard the distinct _thunk_ of something hard hitting flesh and then she felt Bellamy fall to the ground beside her as that woman — Ontari — laughed.

“Enough.”

Another woman’s voice cut into whatever commotion echoed out around her, it seemed to silence the noise, the wind, the rustle of air and cloth and weapon and armour. Lexa felt herself pushed forward again, she felt Bellamy’s presence beside her and then a hand gripped her shoulder, squeezed and Lexa fell to the ground with a grunt of pain as her legs were kicked out from underneath.

“Heda,” Ontari said, and Lexa heard deference in the woman’s voice, she heard supplication and submission.

“This is the one who leads them?” the voice asked, and it came quiet, careful, slightly deeper than expected, terribly rich with a rasp and a careful timber that made Lexa’s skin crawl.

“This one is, Heda,” Ontari answered.

“And the man?” the question came out full of derision and Lexa felt Bellamy bristle, she felt him tense, and if she hadn’t been in such a perilous situation, if she didn’t think even making noise would end in her head being removed, she would try to tell him to calm down, to relax, to stop doing whatever it was that had caused him to be struck, pushed and hit.

“He refused to allow her to come alone,” Ontari answered. “Even after I _encouraged_ him to behave.”

“I see,” and the voice seemed to come out more intrigued. “Remove the blindfolds.”

And so Lexa found herself wondering what this woman — what _Heda —_ must have looked like. Lexa wondered if she was as tattooed and as scarred as all her warriors seemed to be, if she was old, young, or somewhere between.

But of all the things Lexa thought she would see, it wasn’t what greeted her.

The blindfold was pulled from her face with little care or worry for her comfort, and Lexa winced through the gag as her hair was pulled with the motion. Light from the many candles and flames she saw flickering about inside the tent blinded her, and she couldn’t help but to wonder if their presence and intensity was purposeful.

She saw a silhouette next, and it was something ferocious, something unfamiliar and all together terrifying.

As Lexa’s vision cleared she saw that a woman sat atop a chair, a throne of twisted wood, of spears and weapons that seemed to all bend and wind and twist together into a nest of crazed disorder. A coat of thick leathers and armoured plating draped her body. A red sash, colour as vibrant and dazzling as the sun swept down from her left shoulder and to her feet before it pooled upon the ground.

The woman’s hair was blonde, molten gold at times in the firelight. Her eyes were a piercing blue that was framed by black paint that writhed across her eyes, that dripped down her cheeks as if a shadow had sheared away her flesh.

But despite all those things, what stole Lexa’s breath the most, what made her recoil, made her flinch and gasp, was the distinct grey-paleness and lack of colour to her skin. Where one would expect to see the hints of red, of pink beneath proud cheeks, Lexa saw nothing but grey, and if she looked just a little harder she thought she could see the black of veins that etched their path under the woman’s skin. Even her lips were void of what could and should have been expected.

The woman leant forward in her throne and the grey of her lips parted just barely as she took in a deep breath to reveal teeth that almost seemed to glow in the candle light, and for only the briefest of moments Lexa was sure she spied the dark of her gums before her gaze snapped back to the woman’s eyes. The woman smiled then, but the expression seemed void of kindness, it seemed void of warmth, void of depth.

_Void of life._


	2. Chapter 2

The lights of the Ark’s night cycle bathed the corridor a subtle shade of deep and dark red. Lexa’s breath fogged the glass in front of her face and she leant her forehead against its surface in an attempt to ease the pounding between beneath her skull.

She’d be lying if said she wasn’t afraid, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t second guessing her decision, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t excited, if she wasn’t eager and hopeful and any number of other emotions she couldn’t place.

She found herself focusing down onto the Earth that rotated by ever so slowly. It looked beautiful, it always did, especially when it was nighttime over the lands. She thought she could see faint wisps of clouds that just barely made themselves known through the darkness, she thought she could see the snaking of rivers and pools of lakes that reflected the moon’s light. And she wondered, she imagined, she dreamt about what it must have been like to look upon the Earth at night when people lived their lives. She wondered what it would look like to have seen lights spread out across the dark lands and she wondered what it would be like to look up from the ground, to see the vastness of space, to see the stars blanket the night’s sky and to feel the wind upon her face.

But Lexa didn’t know if she liked those thoughts. Perhaps it was because she’d rather not think of how many billions had died during the collapse. Or maybe it was because she didn’t quite know what she’d do if everything she had hoped for was nonexistent, if it was nothing but a foolish dream.

And so Lexa sighed, let her breath spread across the glass and she let the annoyance that was the headache take away her uncertainties.

Lexa checked her watch then, she waited just a few short seconds before the hour ticked by and then she turned her gaze to the far horizon to see the sun cresting the curve of the Earth. Rays of light began to splinter the darkness apart. Its presence pushed aside clouds and began to burrow ever so slowly across the hills, the mountains and forests and plains.

And perhaps that was what Lexa longed to see. For she wondered what it must look like to see the sun rise over any one of the vast forests from the ground. She wondered what it must feel like to have its heat warm her skin, she even wondered what it must be like to feel the wind, to feel the rain, the cold and the dark.

And it was with that last thought that she found herself forcing away any doubts, any reservations and uncertainties because she knew that there was no turning back, there was no backing down. Not anymore.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s boots clipped against the metal flooring of the Ark. Though it was still early people moved about, things always needed to be fixed, stations needed to be manned and order needed to be kept. Lexa smiled to those she passed that she knew, she nodded to those she recognised and she let her feet take her through the Ark until she came to the section where her shared quarters were.

She passed identical set of doors after identical set of doors until she came to the one with her name and the name of her roommate displayed on the lock screen. She took a moment to brace herself for the reproachful glare she knew would come, and she braced herself for the insult that would follow and then she let her hand press against the palm scanner.

Barely a second passed as the door’s security system authenticated her palm print and then the door hissed open with a heavy _thunk_ that seemed to make her headache throb just a little more forcefully.

Lexa’s quarters were sparse, perhaps a little too void of familial oddities. Even Lexa’s roommate owned little personal belongings and for that Lexa was thankful. And so she yawned, tried to stifle the sound and she let her work bag rest upon the main table as she moved deeper into her quarters.

The space was dominated by a single main room that combined kitchen, dining room and living room. A single door in the far wall hid away the bedroom. Those who lived in these smaller quarters didn’t even have access to private washrooms. They shared a single large washroom located in a central part of the section they found themselves assigned. Perhaps being moved into larger quarters with its own bathing facilities was the only thing Lexa could one day look forward to when it came time to start a family.She sighed at the thought though, she shook her head only to wince at the slight ache and she tried not to dwell on the thought of family, of marrying, of childbirth and husbands for longer than she already had.

The hiss of the bedroom door sliding open sounded out and Lexa looked up to see Anya leaning against the doorway, slender arms crossed, hair sleep tussled, bare legs glowing in the dimmed lights and the thin sleep shirt she wore just barely holding back the cold.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Lexa said.

“You did,” the frown upon Anya’s face grew a little more proud as she took her in. “Late night?” and her head tilted enough that the high angle of her cheeks cast a scathing shadow across her face.

“Yeah,” and Lexa shrugged. “Just trying to finish up some loose ends at work.”

“You decided, didn’t you?” it was simple, blunt, perhaps a little disappointed.

“I did,” Lexa said, and she turned to face Anya fully, her eyes just once taking in the woman’s form before meeting her glare with a raised chin.

“When do you leave?” Anya asked.

“Tomorrow,” Lexa said as she looked down at her watch. “Just under six hours.”

“You’ve thought about it?”

“I have,” and Lexa had, as much as she could. She knew the risks, but she knew what was at stake, too. And they needed her, they needed someone who had leadership experience but who was expendable if things went south.

“They could send Sinclair,” Anya said. “Anyone else but you.”

“He’s more important than I am,” it came out a little tiredly. “Plus,” and she shrugged. “I’m used to people blaming me for turning off their power, so if things go wrong I can deal with getting blamed for that, too.”

“If things go wrong you’ll be dead,” and though Anya’s words were blunt, though they could sound unkind, Lexa knew Anya cared in her own way.

“Then you can blame me for that, too,” she said

“I’ll have to get a new roommate,” Anya said.

“You’ve already decided the mission’s going to fail?” Lexa asked.

“Haven’t you?” and Anya’s voice seemed to come out a little less firm than Lexa was familiar with.

“No,” Lexa answered as she shook her head. “I wouldn’t have volunteered if I thought so.”

“What are the chances, Lexa?” Anya asked and it surprised Lexa to find that Anya’s voice came out tinged with just a hint of pleading.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I can’t sit here and do nothing while the Ark continues to die around us.”

Anya looked away then, and Lexa found herself beginning to move closer, perhaps in part to try to give comfort to Anya, and perhaps in part just to ease herself into her bed, to get what little sleep she could get.

Anya’s eyes softened just a fraction as she let her pass, “I’ll have to get a new roommate,” she repeated, and this time it seemed tinged with an emotion that made Lexa’s breath stutter.

Lexa paused next to Anya and turned to face the other woman. Though Anya was taller than her, in her work boots Lexa found herself standing level with Anya who remained barefoot. She didn’t quite realise how close they were until she felt Anya’s breath ghost against her cheek and in that very moment she found herself taking in the depths of the other woman’s eyes.

“I—” Lexa swallowed whatever it was she thought she was going to say.

Anya’s eyes lowered for just a fraction of a second as they shared in the silence, and Lexa could swear she saw Anya’s pulse quicken where it lay beating along the curve of her neck. Anya’s hand reached out then ever so slowly, and Lexa recognised it as a sign that she could pull away if she wanted, but for some reason she found herself willing to let someone else take control. Anya’s fingers closed around her hand, and the motion was careful, it was slow, their fingers intertwined and Lexa tried to settle the beating of her own heart as it began to strum a little more forcefully in her chest.

“Anya,” Lexa didn’t mean for her voice to sound so breathless, and perhaps she didn’t even mean to say anything at all.

But Anya answered her name with a kiss, and it was gentle, it was chaste, so very far removed from the fierce woman Lexa knew during the day. But she found herself falling into the other woman, she found herself pressing forward, sharing heat and space and her free hand came up to cradle the side of Anya’s jaw as she angled her head, and as she deepened their connection.

But before too long Anya broke the kiss between them with a hand held against her chest. Lexa didn’t realise her eyes had closed until she pulled away and opened them to find herself taking in an equally stunned Anya, eyes half dazed and lips parted ever so slightly before she blinked, before she seemed to steady her own breathing.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Anya said after a quiet pause.

“I know,” Lexa said, and she knew, she understood the way Anya’s eyes hardened just barely, she understood the way Anya’s hand that lay over her beating heart didn’t seem to give way. And Lexa would be lying if she said she wasn’t feeling alone, if she didn’t even consider the possibility that she could soon die.

In one slow motion Anya nodded, enough to give Lexa the time to change her mind yet again, enough time to move past her and into her own bed.

But if this was to be Lexa’s last night, if this was to be her final moments of calm before dying in a fiery explosion in Earth’s upper atmosphere or succumbing to nuclear radiation as soon as she stepped out of the drop ship, then she could be forgiven for seeking whatever comforts she could.

And so Lexa pressed forward, she let her hands snake under Anya’s shirt and she began kicking off her boots as she pulled them both to the nearest bed.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s eyes opened to the dark of her quarters. The slightest buzzing vibrated up her wrist and her vision settled on the face of her watch that showed the hour. It took Lexa a moment longer to remember the night, and as she woke more fully she found herself facing Anya.

Anya lay asleep before her, the woman’s hair framing her face, one arm tucked under the pillow beneath her head, the other reaching out between them both in sleep. The curve of Anya’s chest seemed to catch thelight before it dipped into the covers, and as Lexa let her mind settle she found herself thinking that maybe having a family of her own would have been less burdensome than she had always thought. Or perhaps she simply wished to have been born long before the bombs fell. But she thought neither of those things worthy of dwelling upon for longer than she already had and so she shook those thoughts free and rose from the bed as quietly as she could.

As Lexa stood in what was her shared bedroom for her entire adult life, and even part of her youth, she found a sadness taking hold. It took a moment for her to place just why it was that she felt the sadness, but as her gaze took in the bare of the metal walls, the absence of trinkets and her still made bed, she realised the sadness she felt was because there was a chance that come this time tomorrow, that there would be little for others to remember her by. No family, no parents, both long since floated, no husband, no child. Just her name printed in the remembrance book, another faceless name to have lived on the Ark. Perhaps Anya would be the only person to really miss her. But even Anya had resigned herself to accepting a new roommate, even she had resigned herself to living on the Ark until it could no longer support life.

And that was sad. It was sad because so many people had changed. It was sad for those who had once been dedicated, who had thrown themselves into problem after problem, had always assumed that the Ark was fixable. But when the lack of oxygen wasn’t they had broken, crumbled and lost hope.

And Lexa hated it, she hated the acceptance she saw, she hated the resignation in some, she hated the self-pity, the denial, the angers and regrets. And perhaps that was why she volunteered. To make a better place for her people, to give them a chance to survive and to live.

A shiver ran through her naked body and so Lexa moved to where her already packed belongings lay, she slipped on the loose fitting clothes she would wear to the washrooms and she took just one last look at her still neatly made bed and she hoped that whoever would take her place appreciated her parting gift.

 

* * *

 

The walk to the washrooms was quiet despite the hour. People worked in shifts, the early morning crew already well under way. But despite that, the usual buzz was replaced by a solemness that made her skin crawl, made her want to shy away from the looks of those she passed. It wasn’t surprising that the names of those who volunteered had leaked nor was it surprising that the Ark had become quiet and muted. Lexa had even expected it. But she didn’t expect the looks. Maybe she was foolish not to. She knew some looked at the volunteers and saw heroes, she knew some looked and saw fools unwilling to accept the bitter truth. And she knew others looked with any number of other thoughts.

But she didn’t volunteer for recognition, for pity, for redemption or some ill-placed sense of destiny. And so she tried her best to ignore those she passed as she made her way forward.

The washrooms were utilitarian, bare of most creature comforts that were reserved for the families and for those higher up the command chain. A single long wall dominated the washrooms with shower heads protruding from them with as much brutal simplicity as could be expected for a station pieced together in a panic more than a century ago. Small benches sat in the middle of the washroom, and the other wall held the toilet cubicles and taps. Men and women already moved about, some half dressed, some fully, others bare to the chill and the steaming spray of water.

It didn’t take Lexa long to find a free shower head, and as she began to strip she let the familiarity of her motions take control. The water was always too hot, its dual use as the station’s heatsink for all the machinery and for showering a simple yet welcomed coincidence for she didn’t know what she would do if the Ark had no hot water. Lexa stepped into the spray of heat and she bowed her head enough that the water drummed into the back of her neck and cascaded down her shoulders. As she looked down her body she couldn’t help but to grimace at the bite sized bruise she saw already beginning to purple just above her left breast. She didn’t quite remember when Anya gave it to her, but she was thankful that it wasn’t somewhere more exposed — at least when she was dressed.

“Lexa,” her name being spoken startled her and she looked up to find Jackson standing under the spray of water beside her, the man’s eyes a little sad, or perhaps he simply squinted past the foam of shampoo dripping from his hair.

“Jackson,” Lexa said as she began to massage a small amount of shampoo into her hair.

“I heard,” he said, and she watched from the corner of her eye as he turned his own face into the stream, eyes closed as he let the water rinse away the lather. “I—” he paused, perhaps to decide on what to say, perhaps to second guess his intrusion into her quiet. “Good luck,” he said instead.

Lexa hummed a response, and she thought that if she said any more, that her own doubts would return. But as the last of the shampoo rinsed from her hair, and as she finished scrubbing away the previous day’s grime, she found herself wanting to leave the Ark in better shape than she was leaving it.

“Jackson,” she said as she reached out and turned her tap off.

“Yeah?” and he turned to look at her.

“My locker,” she said. “Password’s _epsilon sigma five._ I have rations I saved up for a special occasion,” and she shrugged as she saw his eyes widen a fraction. “They’re yours, I won’t be needing them anymore.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa was terrified, she was thrilled, scared and eager. She sat strapped into the drop ship, her pack lay tied down to the floor by her feet and she pressed the back of her head into the cushioned brace that was the only thing stopping her neck from breaking should the drop ship hurtle off course or come to a far too sudden stop. Ninety-nine other volunteers all sat in their own chairs on multiple levels of the drop ship, and as Lexa looked around, she could see the same fears, the same excitement and apprehension on all their faces. She recognised many, some who had yet to start families of their own, she saw those who thought their sacrifice would give the others more time to fix the Ark’s problems. She saw those that had nothing left to lose and she saw some, just a few whose faces were determined, whose beliefs she knew were reflective of her own.

The man beside her cursed out quietly as a loud _clunk_ echoed out around them, and Lexa recognised the sound to be the docking station locks separating and preparing to push them free of the Ark before the engines ignited.

“They never said it was going to be this crowded,” the man said with a grimace as he looked at her.

“What did you expect?” Lexa said, and she eyed the way he hopelessly tried huffing a clump of sweaty hair away from his eyes.

“Not this,” and he shrugged as much as he could in the restraints holding him down. “What team are you with?” he asked as he looked past her and to the others who sat around them.

“I’m leading Alpha team,” Lexa said and she cocked her head to the side just a little as she realised she couldn’t quite place him.

“Oh,” and he smiled something that would have been endearing at any other time. “I got moved from delta to yours,” and he reached out to offer her his hand to shake only to give up as the restraints held him back. “Bellamy.”

“Lexa,” and she eyed him for a moment longer before recognition dawned on her.

“I am,” he said, and she saw the resignation, the acceptance for whatever preconceptions she was sure he believed her to have.

“You’re—” a lurch made her teeth grit in anticipation. “You aren’t to blame,” and she saw surprise flash across his face for a moment. “Not for her actions.”

Lexa knew she had touched upon a sore topic though for Bellamy looked away, seemed to second guess whatever it was that got him into their current position.

“Why’d you transfer?” perhaps changing topic would help alleviate just a little anxiety. Not that it would help much.

“I punched Delta’s team leader,” he said with a shrug. “He was talking about my sister, our mother.”

Lexa took a moment to take in what Bellamy said, but as she looked at the man, she found herself thinking him trustworthy. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t even think she trusted her own judgement in the moment. But she knew they would need to get along, that they would need to work together if they were to survive whatever was to come next.

“Welcome aboard, Bellamy,” and she saw him smile just slightly, the expression full of relief.

“My pleasure.”

And with that the lights turned red, a siren echoed out around them and Lexa saw a woman in the far corner empty her stomach onto her neighbours lap, she saw a few close their eyes and she heard murmurings of the traveller’s blessing begin to fill the drop ship’s interior as people began to accept whatever future lay in wait.

Lexa looked out the only window she could see from where she sat, and she found herself looking upon a corner of the Ark and through the distance she could see people gathering to watch through a large window. The drop ship gave another angry lurch, and then she felt it begin to slip away from where it had been docked. She watched as the sole sliver of the only place she had called home began to slide from view, but just before it vanished from her sight completely she was sure she saw a woman pushing her way through the crowd of people, and for just one last moment Lexa felt her lips pull into a smile as she recognised Anya, hand pressed against the glass in a lonely farewell.

“May we meet again, Anya,” Lexa whispered.

And with that the drop ship’s engines ignited and sent Lexa and ninety-nine other volunteers hurtling to the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

A single ray of sunlight streamed in from the window. Clarke watched as motes of dust floated and drifted where they pleased. The bed she lay in was warm, it was soft, fur covered and vast. Candles danced their light around her sleeping quarters and she found herself happy to imagine the shadows she saw as monsters, as warriors who fought and danced and wended together in a battle of life and death.

Bird song could be heard in the distance. Clarke had heard it for so long that she could even identify each individual bird that would call, and at times she would grow sad when one’s call was never heard again. And at times she would be happy when she would hear a new voice join the song. And she sighed, she sprawled out on her bed for the few short moments she could spare before whatever was to come with the new day. In the distance she heard the quiet approach of feet.

Clarke’s quarters were sparse, barely any furniture lay within, only a single large table adorned with a map of the surrounding lands, its edges held down by a myriad of different models, each one representing a clan, a village, a landmark or any other thing of note. Along the far wall hung her weapons, two wicked knives, each blade as long as her forearm, and a bow and quiver of arrows. The other wall, this one backed by a balcony that looked down onto the streets of Polis, was covered in a latticework of wood so intricately carved that Clarke could never quite discern where one carving ended and another began.

But the feet approaching grew louder and so Clarke, body bare to the elements, rose from her bed in one elegant motion. The furs fell away and she came to stand before the large mirror that leant against the wall. The mirror was brass, polished to perfection yet it still showed signs of wear, of age, of lives having spent reflecting upon whatever was to see. Clarke took in how pale she looked, how grey her skin was, how dark her lips seemed to be even when she was bathed in the warm glow of a rising sun. She never quite knew what to think of her reflection.

A knock came then, and Clarke recognised the firmness, the pattern and the echo.

“Enter,” she said, her eyes never wavering from the single deep scar that etched its way under her left collar bone before dipping just barely into the rise of her breast.

The door opened and closed quickly and as Clarke looked over her shoulder she found Ontari standing by the door’s entrance and her hands behind her back. The woman’s dark brown hair was pulled back in far too many braids to count, she wore her usual furs, their colours white and pristine. The furs around her collar were thicker, more lush and vibrant than the thinner furs that were strapped around her torso with thick black leather strips that were scarred, etched and weathered from years of conflict.

“Heda,” Ontari said as she bowed her head, hazel eyes only once taking in what stood before her.

“How is your Kwin?” Clarke asked as she looked herself in the mirror just once more before she reached for the gown she would wear to her washroom.

“Kwin Nia is well, Heda. She sends her regards,” Ontari answered. “More warriors are stationed at the border in disguise should you need them.”

“And Roan?” Clarke asked as the felt the soft gown begin to settle down the length of her body.

“Returned from the hunts,” Ontari said.

“Good,” and Clarke smiled as she turned to face Ontari.

Ontari met her gaze with a calm defiant certainty, and not for the first time Clarke found herself wondering what Ontari would look like if she didn’t have the diamond shaped scar etched into her forehead, she wondered if without the two slashes on both her cheeks and the horizontal etchings on her chin, would Ontari look as youthful as she knew her to be, or would that glint in her eyes always chase away the youth. Clarke wondered those things if only because Ontari’s cheeks still clung to a youth that was so very far removed from the warrior Clarke knew her to be.

“You will walk with me.”

And with that Clarke reached for the closest knife she kept hidden in her quarters, tucked it into a hidden pocket in her gown and made her way out of her quarters.

Ontari fell into step behind her, the woman’s fur covered boots quick to dampen the steps she took. The hall they walked was made of yellow stone, golden at times when the sun shone upon it and amber when the torches that burned throughout the night washed the tower halls in red. Those torches hung from sconces bolted to the walls. Their flames danced shadows along the smooth and weathered stone underfoot and the windows they passed looked out onto the sprawling city below.

Polis tower lay in the centre of the city. Its cylindrical shape let anyone walk its circumference from any floor, all the while being able to look out onto the streets. A single spiralling staircase was located in the tower’s centre, and against the northern most face of the tower was a lift of wood, of pulleys and rope. Mountains lay in the distance with great plains and fields between where farmers herded animal, and tended seed. The shouts of those below would waft up at times when the wind so desired, and through it all Clarke found the barest hints of a smile threatening to steal away the mask of Heda she wore so well. Guards and servants moved about, each one she passed would stand aside and bow, and Clarke would return the gesture with her own shallow bow as she continued on her way to her own private washroom.

It didn’t take the two women long to travel the distance in silence, and so they came to a set of heavy doors, two guards standing on either side and the sounds of quietly bubbling water echoing out around them.

One of the guards, a man, his face covered in a number of tribal scars, bowed as he opened the door to reveal the Commander’s washroom. It was vast. Large alabaster white tile covered the floor, each one’s size greater than even the largest of steps Clarke could take. The walls were the same stone that the rest of Polis tower was made from, but these ones were polished smooth. Their surfaces were covered in ornate depictions of battles, of victories and defeats from every single Commander to have lived. A single large table stood against one of the walls, upon it lay fresh clothes and towels, bottles full of scents and perfumes and soaps and all sorts of lotions to soothe a weary body.

But the thing that dominated the washroom, the thing that always brought a smile to her lips was the large square basin sunk down into the floor that took up one entire half of the room. It’s surfaces where made from the same alabaster tiles. To Clarke, the washroom’s floor had always made her think that it had been carved from one single and enormous piece of stone.

The sunken basin was filled with water that reached its lip, the surface ever so slightly bubbling from the red hot stones that had been placed at its bottom. Water wafted past the lip, seemed to crawl away ever so slowly as the bubbles pushed it further and further. Even the steam seemed to move across the water’s surface, it seemed to prowl, to stalk, to seek something more than it already had. All those things she saw made it ever hard to discern where the basin’s sunken edge ended, and where the water began.

A servant knelt down by the water’s edge, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she lowered the last of the hot stones held in brass buckets into the water with care and a deftness that could only come from years of experience.

“Thank you,” Clarke said as the servant stood, bowed her head and began to move to the door. “We are not to be disturbed.”

And with that Clarke began moving to the water’s edge, her bare feet eager to seek the heat of the water that had already been absorbed by the tiles underfoot. Each step she took was followed by the shedding of a layer of her gown until she came to the water’s edge, the gown pooling at her feet. Clarke looked over her shoulder and through the rising steam to find Ontari standing by the door, her hands held behind her back and her gaze focused on any one of the many different carvings that sung their story across the walls and the ceiling.

Clarke looked back down to the water to find its colour rich, deep and milky. She dipped one careful toe into the water, she silenced the welcomed groan of satisfaction at the heat and then she sunk her leg down into the heat. Stone steps lay beneath the surface, just three, large enough for her to sit on before they turned to floor.

With the water reaching just below the curve of her breast Clarke continued to move further and further into the centre of the sunken basin. The heat of the water stole her breath, made her skin prickle and crawl and her muscles cry out in joy and comfort. She came to a stop at the centre, far enough away from the basin’s edge that if she squinted it would seem as though she was lost in a sea of steam, of rising scents and serenity.

Clarke turned back the way she had come, her movements sending ripples of water outwards and she watched as the waves played with the bubbles in a myriad of different dances before breaking against the edge stone and tile. But her gaze moved to Ontari’s silhouette that still stood by the door’s entrance.

“Are you going to join me?” Clarke asked, her head tilting to the side.

“I did not wish to be presumptuous, Heda,” and Ontari’s voice came out gentle, soft and sure.

“There is space for us both,” Clarke said as she began to walk backwards until her heels touched the steps at the far end of the basin.

Ontari took only a moment longer to consider, and in that time Clarke wondered what the woman thought, what she considered, whether she felt pressured, eager, uncertain or sure.

But Ontari simply began stalking forward, one foot placed carefully in front of the other and with each step she took a piece of clothing was shed until she stood at the edge of the basin, her toes dipped into the heat and a trail of clothes left behind her.

“This reminds me of home,” Ontari said and her voice came out light, youthful and quiet.

“Azgeda is cold,” Clarke challenged, and she let her eyebrow twitch up though she knew Ontari would barely see the expression.

“The white,” and from the chiding tone Clarke was sure Ontari had sensed her expression. “The white of the tile. It reminds me of the Azgeda plains. Of the frozen lakes that sing song when you step upon them. And the heat of the baths,” she sighed as she began to step into the heat. “We have hot baths to sooth cold and tired bodies.”

“And what of companionship, Ontari?” Clarke asked as she came to sit on the middle step, the water lapping at her collar bones as she reclined back and let her mind ease.

There was a slow and purposeful pause as Ontari’s eyes met her gaze before she whispered, “we have that, too,” Ontari sunk down into the water andsubmerged herself fully.

Clarke watched Ontari’s body move under the water and it was a routine she had seen so many times before, where Ontari would remain under for far longer than Clarke thought possible. She never asked Ontari why she did it, she never ask what she did under the water. She knew it to be personal, she knew it to be only for Ontari, and so she never intruded, never questioned or probed.

After a piercing silence and with her eyes closed, Ontari rose from the water’s depths as elegantly as she always did. The motion seemed so sure and so very purposeful, and as she came to stand, and through it all Clarke watched as the water lapped at Ontari’s chest, and as droplets followed the contours of her body before falling back into the sea that enveloped them both.

Ontari’s eyes opened to reveal an intensity that Clarke seldom saw in the other woman and what she saw was a challenge, she saw a strength, a determination and a softness.

“And what of you, Heda?” Ontari asked as she began to move back until she came to sit on her own large step, the distance between them full of dancing steam and burning heat.

“And what of me?” Clarke knew what Ontari asked, but for some reason she wanted the woman to ask it, to be so brazen as to chase out into the open what she wanted to voice.

“What of companionship?” and Ontari’s head tilted to the side ever so slowly as she sunk just a little deeper into the water until it lapped at her chin.

“I am Heda,” Clarke answered with a shrug before she raised her arm and let the water drip down its length as she held it up to the light of a burning flame.

Clarke didn’t know if she marvelled at the way the light never quite chased away the grey of her skin, she didn’t know if she marvelled at the way her skin seemed to blend into the white of the tile or of the milky water.

“Look at me,” Clarke said as she looked Ontari in the eyes. “What do you see?” and Clarke wondered what Ontari would say, she wondered if she would call her woman or fiend, ruler or tyrant.

Ontari remained silent for a very long moment.

“I see death,” the answer sent a shiver down Clarke’s spine, but it did so for all the wrong reasons. “I see death,” Ontari repeated as she stood and began to move forward, her hands held so that they brushed against the very surface of the water around them. “I see death,” and she stopped in the middle of the basin.

“Is that all?” Clarke asked, and she too stood, she began to move forward. “Is that all you see?” she asked as she came to a stop in front of Ontari, the warmth of the air around them cold enough to prickle her flesh.

“I see a woman,” Ontari began to move in circles around her, the words she said soft, whispered and gentle upon her lips. “A warrior,” Clarke shivered as she felt one of Ontari’s fingers trace the raised edge of the scar that ran down her chest and dipped into her breast. “A survivor,” Ontari leant forward and whispered the words into her ear as she came to circle behind her. “A leader,” and Clarke turned to look over one shoulder and then the other in an attempt to follow Ontari’s movements. “A nightblood,” and Ontari came to a standstill in front of her.

Ontari’s eyes were softer, her chest rose just a little more quickly and Clarke could sense the anticipation beginning to build in the space between them.

“You are a nightblood, Heda,” Ontari said as she came to stand just an inch closer. “Younger than all others. Older than most ever became,” Ontari took another step closer. “You bleed black when others bleed red,” and Ontari reached out, let her fingers begin to follow the pronounced black of a vein that ran down the length of Clarke’s inner arm. “Your heart is black when others are red,” and Ontari let her hand rise until it came to rest atop her heart. For just one sickening moment Clarke found herself wondering if Ontari had ever actually seen just how black nightblood hearts were. But her thoughts were killed by the press of soft lips tinged with red against her own. “You are a nightblood,” Ontari whispered against her mouth. “You are the only nightblood,” and Clarke found herself shivering as Ontari’s lips left her own and began to follow the curve of her jaw. “You are the last nightblood,” and she began to kiss lower. “You are the greatest nightblood,” Clarke watched as Ontari kissed down her body until she had lowered enough that the water lapped at her chin. And then Ontari looked up and pinned her with a gaze full of heat and intensity. “You are my nightblood.”

And with that Ontari’s head disappeared beneath the surface of the searing heat.

 

* * *

 

Fire screamed around her, its heat twisted her flesh, filled her nostrils and swept her left and right, back and forth. Lexa’s lip bled, she didn’t remember biting it. She didn’t even feel it. A woman who sat opposite her slouched unconscious, arms flailing about as the drop ship was buffeted left and right. Metal groaned, roared and thrashed and screamed out in such a deafening sound that Lexa thought it had taken place within her mind.

And then it was silent.

Or perhaps simply _different._

It took her a moment to realise that the drop ship’s reverse thrusters ignited, the sudden change in direction seemed to have broken her mind, for what she knew must be deafening instead rang out hollowly, its sound not really heard, not even really felt. Lexa’s body shook from the jolt that ran through the drop ship, she felt a lurch, something subtle, something uneven and then it was still.

Lexa didn’t realise her eyes were closed until she blinked, she didn’t realise she was clutching so very tightly to the restraints holding her in place until her fingers began to cramp.

And then it struck her that the drop ship no longer moved, it struck her that there was no longer the sound of the roaring engines, the creaking of the metal that tried to hold itself together.

Lexa let out one long shaky breath, she reached up and swiped away the sweat that clung to her forehead and as she did so she found her gaze settling onto the small window recessed into the side of the drop ship.

At first she saw nothing but a wash of light, too blinding for her to really grasp. But as she continued to look, as she continued to peer into the little sliver of light she realised that she could see shapes, that she could see movement.

And Lexa smiled, she smiled and she found a laugh beginning to escape her lips as she realised that what she looked upon was the green of treetops, was the green of leaves that danced in the wind, that swayed to the drop ship’s presence.

“Hey,” she reached out and grabbed Bellamy’s shoulder, shook him long enough that she was sure she had his attention, “look, Bellamy,” and she let his shoulder go and pointed out to the window.

Bellamy must have followed her gesture for he took in a deep breath and seemed not to be able to believe what he saw.

“We made it,” his voice came out equal parts incredulous and full of certainty, and Lexa couldn’t help but to laugh at the contrast.

“Yeah,” she turned to look at him to find a wide smile plastered across his face, and despite the sweat that dripped from his skin, despite how pale he looked, and despite the burst blood vessel in the corner of his eye, Lexa thought the smile so very charming. “We made it.”


	4. Chapter 4

The sun streamed down on the training ground with an intensity that always seemed the breathe new life into the aches etched into Clarke’s body. Before Clarke stood targets, some small, some large, others swinging from where they hung down from structures planted into the ground. Around her were a sea of warriors, some old, some young, some wounded and others tired. The sounds of sword clanging against sword, fist hitting flesh and the steady _thump_ of arrow or knife piercing target after target echoed around her.

Clarke planted her feet a little more firmly in the ground and she turned herself towards the furthest target, its size small enough that she needed to squint, its distance far enough that she knew she would need to aim so very far above. She ignored the eyes that watched her, she ignored the sweat that dripped from her brow and she took in one steady breath as she drew her knife, as she flipped it around so that her fingers held the tip of the blade.

Her motions were smooth, they were sure and familiar. Clarke drew back her hand, shifted her weight with the motion and she flung the knife into the air as hard as she could. It spun and spun and whistled in a steady arc forwards. And then it hit the target with a gentle _thump_ that she barely heard over the noise of the training grounds.

And so Clarke drew her next knife, this one as equally well balanced as the first, and she repeated her motions, but this time faster, this time less thought, less conscious, and she did so for she needed to push herself, needed to move into the uncomfortable, needed to feel the strain, the very edge of her abilities. And before the second knife had even had time to leave her hand she already reached for her third, and then her forth, and then her fifth, and she continued to move faster and faster and faster until her motions became a blur, until her muscles screamed out and until she had exhausted every single knife she kept hidden on her person.

Clarke’s fingers seemed light, her mind seemed just a little feint, and she took in one long steadying breath as she began to walk forward, each step she took purposeful and poised as she made her way towards the target that was now skewered with every single knife she had thrown it’s way.

Once she reached her target and pulled her knives free she returned to her place and turned to face the target again, but as she reached for the first of her knives she felt a familiar sting and burning sensation running through her finger.

Clarke looked down at her hand to find black blood etching its way through the lines of her palm from a cut across her finger. She watched as her blood seemed to creep along its path, she watched how it seemed to shimmer, flicker and sparkle at times when the sun hit it just right and she grimaced as the burn seemed to take hold just a little more forcefully.

That pain always came, it always seemed to grow in intensity and it always seemed to burn just a little more painfully with her smaller wounds, with those that were never quite so severe.

Clarke continued to watch the cut on her finger as the blood slowly began to coagulate, as it began to ebb and as the flow began to lessen. In contrast to the ebbing flow of blood, the burn from the wound continued to grow, and as the burn began to radiate outwards she felt the edges of the wound begin to itch and she watched as they pull together before her very eyes. But before long the burning stopped and the wound closed itself as it always did, the only sign that she had once been hurt being the black blood that now began to dry across her palm.

A shadow fell across her then, and she looked up to find a Trikru warrior standing beside her, the tall man’s shoulders broad, his sandy blonde hair short cropped, his blue eyes piercing in the sunlight and the beard that cascaded down his chest braided and fierce.

In his hand was held a clean cloth, its fabric elegant, soft and supple.

“Heda,” he said simply. “For your wound.”

Clarke nodded as she reached out and took the offered bandage and began to wipe away the blood from her hand, and for only a short moment she found herself silently apologising for the stain she knew her blood would leave.

“Thank you,” Clarke said. “I will have it cleaned,” it was the least she could do.

Clarke turned back to the target then, her mind already chasing away the wandering thoughts. Part of her expected the man to move aside, and part of her expected him to remain in silent companionship. But she didn’t expect him to talk, to voice whatever thoughts she knew him to have.

“We are going to war,” he said quietly, and Clarke let her arm follow through with the arc she had already sent it on as she threw her first knife towards the target.

“What makes you believe that?” Clarke asked as she reached for her second knife.

“My scouts have seen more Azgeda at the border,” he said, and she looked at the taller man from the corner of her eyes. “You need not confirm it,” he said with one simple shrug. “I understand,” and he paused as he watched her throw another knife. “Even the traders have been seeing more profit in the last few weeks.”

Clarke paused long enough to consider the entire conversation before she tucked the next knife back into its place on her belt as she turned to face him.

“I do not question your motives,” he said as he took a single step back as she made her gaze harden and her shoulders square.

“Then what do you do?” she asked.

He paused then, perhaps for longer than he intended for his mouth opened to say something before it clicked shut.

“Speak,” Clarke said.

“Trikru will stand with you as it has always done,” he said.

“I did not expect any different,” Clarke let her shoulders relax only a fraction. But as Clarke continued to look the man in the eyes, she found his words hidden, yet she found his worries clear for her to sense. “You worry for our people,” and she let her voice soften just a bit as she lessened the iron in her eyes.

“I—” he paused yet again, but this time Clarke thought it not to determine whether he would speak further, but rather to determine how best to give voice to his thoughts. “Your mother would be proud of the leader you have become.”

The praise surprised her. Clarke never let herself think too long of the past, if only because she knew it would do little to help the future. But as the man continued to hold her gaze, she saw a truth, a belief and a conviction in his gaze.

She watched as he sighed, seemed to chase away his own thoughts before continue, “I will prepare our warriors,” he said.

And with that the blonde haired and blue eyed warrior bowed his head and turned away, his feet taking him towards where Polis lay in the distance.

Clarke didn’t know what spurred her on, she didn’t know why she felt the need to do so, but for a moment she found herself uncaring of how it would look, how it would sound to any that heard.

And so, before the man could move out of ear shot she called out to him.

“Father,” her voice was sharp, the timber of it iron. She watched as he paused mid step, her call to him surprising. He turned then, his shoulders squared as he faced her from across the distance. “The Mountain,” she paused long enough to know he met her gaze. “I will make it bleed.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa held her breath, not because she believed the air to be toxic, not because she thought it would burn down her lungs and cause her to choke on her own blood. But she did for she didn’t want her first breath of real air to be marred by the sweat, the stench of emptied stomaches and the fumes of the fuel that had permeated through the drop ship.

She didn’t realise what it was at first, but as the drop ship doors began to groan open she found a gentle breeze beginning to brush against her forehead. It took her a moment longer before she realised that the breeze was the wind, was the air that soared through the forest. And she smiled, she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t fight it, didn’t even dare to. Sunlight hit her face as the drop ship’s doors continued to open, and it was warm, its heat more intense than anything she had ever felt on the Ark with its artificial day-night cycle.

The groaning of the drop ship’s door grew louder and louder until all that remained was the screeching vibrations until the door slammed onto the forest floor before them.

And then there was silence.

Lexa found herself at the entrance, volunteers to her left and right, to her back, and the forest to her front. She looked to her side and up at Bellamy who stood rooted in place, his eyes wide, jaw clenched tightly.

And then, seemingly as one, all those around her began to move forward. Each step Lexa took echoed out around them, each step she took seemed to make her lungs scream out for a breath, and each step she took made her mind scream out in uncertainty, fear, exhilaration and awe.

She waited until her feet left the metal of the drop ship, she waited until her boots came to crunch into the ground underfoot, and it wasn’t until she realised she stood on dirt, and it wasn’t until she realised that she stood on the Earth. And she waited for all those things before she took in her first breath of fresh air.

It was cool, it was crisp, it seemed so very tangible, so very pure. The air filled her lungs, lessened the burning deep in her chest and Lexa couldn’t help but to turn her face up to the sky, to the sun, to the wind that blew across her face.

And she laughed.

Lexa laughed, she laughed and she didn’t know if it was the adrenaline, she didn’t know if it was the fact that they had survived, or if it was simply the fact that she stood on the Earth. Whatever it was made her feel light headed, made her feel so very happy to be alive.

Others around her began to laugh, she was sure she even sensed others cry, shout out in joy and bewilderment. People began to move forward, some pushed passed her uncaring of her presence, and as she was jostled, as she was bumped, she found herself uncaring, if only because she knew not what to think.

Lexa opened her eyes to find some on their knees in the dirt, hands buried in the damp undergrowth, she watched a woman scramble to the nearest plant that bore flower and take in a deep breath. She saw others with their eyes closed as their lips moved to unheard word. And then she heard the chatter of birds, she heard the forest as it breathed around them.

And for the very first time in her life, Lexa didn’t know what to do.

* * *

 

The searing flames of the drop ship had long since faded from view. Anya didn’t know why she remained by the large window, she didn’t know why she kept her hand pressed to the glass and she didn’t know why tears streamed down her cheeks.

A hopelessness had taken hold of her as soon as the drop ship’s engines had ignited, it had consumed her, made her feel stuck in place unable to do anything of use. She had expected an explosion, she had expected the drop ship to lose control and spin out of view. She had expected its engines to cut out halfway through its decent and to send those strapped inside to a fiery death.

But none of those things happened. And she had watched until the drop ship plunged into a blanket of clouds, she had watched as the hole it had punched through the atmosphere was swallowed and she had watched as those around her had gone about their day, had left her behind, had shied away from whatever foolish hope they believed the volunteers clung to.

Anya wiped away the tears across her cheeks, she balled the hand she kept pressed to the glass into a fist and she cursed her stupidity, she cursed her regret, her anger and her frustration. Anya slammed her fist into the glass, she sunk to her knees and she tried not to let her emotions carry throughout the lonely corridor.

Anya did all those things for she had never expected the drop ship to survive, if only because it had been left unused, untested for decades, she had thought it so old, so far in disrepair that it would tear itself apart and not even give the volunteers a fighting chance. But she was wrong. The drop ship had remained intact, it had survived the decent, and she had doubted.

Something clicked in her mind then, and it was something violent, something full of emotions left un-faced. Anya wiped the back of her hand across her face, she made sure any sign of tears were gone and then she rose to her feet.

Anya took one last long look at where she had last seen the drop ship before she turned from the window. She had let Lexa down, if only by giving up hope, she had let Lexa down, if only by not believing that she would succeed. Anya had let Lexa down. And as Anya turned from her reflection she made a promise to herself that she would never let Lexa down again.

 

* * *

 

Crates, supplies and storage boxes lay placed around the drop ship in what could only be described as organised disorder. People were already categorising their rations, checking supplies and going over maps of the surrounding areas.

Lexa stood around one large crate that came up to her hip. A large map was laid out over it and two rocks were placed on either end to hold it in place lest the breeze take it away. Stood around her were the members of Alpha team, men and women, all volunteers for the mission that had only moments ago seemed suicidal.

“As you are all probably aware,” Lexa said as she looked from face to face that looked at her. “We’re off course by about a day’s hard travel, maybe more,” she said as she pointed down to where Mount Weather was marked on the map. “The Ark didn’t take into account how out of calibration the drop ship’s manoeuvring thrusters were.”

“It was always a gamble,” a woman said. “We either didn’t fix anything and hoped we’d land where we wanted. Or we fixed something, spend resources we couldn’t waste, and still hope we landed where we wanted.”

Lexa looked to the woman to find a frown plastered across her face and her dark hair pulled back and tied out of her eyes as she looked at the map.

“Yeah,” Lexa said. “Raven’s right,” she continued. “This is where we are,” and she pointed to where they had landed on the map. “There’s a valley between the mountain we’re on, and the mountain we’re after.”

“So now what?” and this time Lexa looked up to see Bellamy’s arms crossed as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“We establish a camp,” Lexa said. “Our mission hasn’t changed,” and she looked around at her team. “Teams will spread out, begin searching for edible plants, animals, water sources. We need to take our time and make sure we understand what we can, and be wary of what we don’t know,” and she nodded to a black haired man who held a jar of soil in his hand. “That’s where you come into play Monty,” she said.

“I’m on it,” and he smiled. “Soil from first glance already seems healthy for planting crops,” and he raised the jar of soil. “See,” and he pointed to a wriggling worm that twisted and slithered about. “Worms.”

“Good,” Lexa said. “You’re coming with the search parties. Categorise any plants you find, we need to know what’s edible and what’s not.”

“Understood,” Monty said with a smile.

“Our first task is to find a safe water source,” Lexa continued. “Our maps say there’s a river and lake system not far from here, so that’s where we’re going first,” she paused to look at those around her, and part of her thought she’d see worry, she’d see fear and regret. But all she saw was a determination, a confidence and an eagerness to explore what was once home to the human race. “Any last questions?”

Raven shook her head and tucked her hands into the straps of her backpack, Monty shrugged his shoulders and Bellamy and the others remained quiet.

And so Lexa smiled and nodded to the twelve members of her team.

“Good. Let’s head out.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa was overwhelmed, she was awed, unable to really grasp what she saw. She had dreamed of the forests at times as a child, had always thought herself foolish in her youth to long for something so very far out of reach. She had wondered what it must have been like to feel the wind against her face, had wondered what the heat of a sun might have felt like. But she needed to focus, she needed to concentrate on the task at hand.

And so she paused, she steadied herself against a moss covered tree and turned back to face the way she had been walking. The others in her team came to a stop, too, some leaning against their own trees, others coming to sit where they could. She saw fatigue on all their faces, sweat beading across their skin and their hair plastered across weary brow.

Lexa had never expected that simply walking forwards would have been a struggle, but she found the simple fact of walking across uneven ground, where stick and stone, slippery mud and twisted forest floor made her use muscles in her feet and legs she had never had to use on the Ark.

She also hadn’t noticed it at first, partly due to the adrenaline and excitement of the decent to the Earth, but she was sure the carefully calibrated spinning of the Ark’s rings had been just slightly out of sync with Earth’s gravity. Her body felt just a small fraction heavier, each step, each swing of her arms seemed to weigh her down far more than should be expected. Even breathing seemed to come a little more forced.

She thought she saw the same fatigue upon all those around her, she eyed Bellamy who shrugged the rifle strapped to his back a little higher on his shoulder and she was sure even he seemed to be feeling the weight of the world upon his shoulders. A woman, hair a light brown lay sprawled out on the forest floor, the black of her guard’s uniform doing little to blend into the green of the moss and foliage and bushes that sprung and crawled and filtered out across the ground.

“Harper,” Lexa said as she pushed off from the tree only to wobble for just a moment before she got her balance back.

“Yeah?” Harper asked as she lifted her head up from the ground to look her way and Lexa saw the woman’s face tinged red from exhaustion.

“You ok?” Lexa asked.

“I am,” Harper said as she struggled into a sitting position. “It’s just Earth’s gravity,” and she wiped a hand across her face. “It’s hard to get used to.”

“Same,” and Lexa stopped before her and held out a hand. “But we can’t get too comfortable. The Ark and everyone else down here is counting on us to find a water source,” Lexa smiled as Harper reached out and took her hand. “Come on.”

“I’m so glad it wasn’t just me,” Bellamy grunted as he came to stand by her side. “I didn’t even know _breathing_ could be hard and all we’ve done is walk.”

“It’s a new experience for all of us,” Lexa said and she turned to face those who sat and stood and rested around her. “Catch your breath, but keep a look out for anything of use, or anything that could be a threat,” and she smiled at Monty who she saw already picking at the leaves of another plant he must have found interesting. “We move out in ten.”

 

* * *

 

The water was calm, a pristine blue that flowed and trickled and drifted before them. Lexa stood at the water’s edge, her hands on her hips and her eyes scanning the surface for any sign of fish, of sea life that could be a source of food. Bellamy stood close by, his hands clutching his rifle, the bird call that had come and gone with their journey through the forest clearly fraying his fatigued mind.

“How’s it look?” Lexa called out to Monty who crouched down nearby, a clump of what she assumed to be seaweed pulled out onto the pebbled riverbed and spread out before him.

“Hopefully I’ll know more when I get it back to the drop ship,” he said with a tight smile as sweat dripped down the side of his face.

“And the water?” Lexa said and she tried not to let her excitement or the anticipation filter into her voice.

“There’s a current,” Harper answered as she finished scooping up the vial from under the water before dropping a small tablet into it. “So that’s a bonus,” and she shook the vial and eyed its colour with bated breath. “And we’re good,” she finished with a smile as the water remained the same colour.

Lexa let out a relieved sigh at that.

“Good work, Harper,” and she nodded. “Fill up our containers, we’ll take as much as we can carry back to the drop ship.”

And with that those with her bega—

“Hey,” Bellamy’s voice cut into the commotion as he made a step forward and towards the water’s edge. “Hey, hey, he—”

“Bella—”

Bellamy’s hand reached out, grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back with a sharp tug—

“Get back,” Bellamy barked and Lexa found his gaze focused somewhere into the water, his gaze narrowed.

“What—”

But someone swearing, and the scramble of another moving back from the water’s edge made her spin around and face whatever it was.

Lexa’s eyes widened as she turned to the water, as Bellamy continued to pull her back, and she felt fear and something primal make her skin go clammy.

A rippling wake was forming on the surface of the water as something below its depths approached slowly, the motions smooth, elegant and far too predatory to be anything but dangerous.

Lexa’s gaze fell to Monty for only a second to find that he had been pulling Harper away, her testing the water putting her in clear danger of whatever lurked below the surface.

“Everyone get back,” Lexa said, and she fumbled for her own rifle strapped to her back as she started taking cautious steps away from the river.

“I’ve got it,” Bellamy said quietly as he raised his rifle, squinted down the sights and began to track the shape below the surface.

“Hold on,” and Lexa grit her teeth in anticipation, in fear, in something bordering on fascination. “Don’t shoot unless it attacks.”

Bellamy paused for only a moment before responding with nodded acknowledgement.

Lexa didn’t blame him for not taking his eyes off whatever it was that swam below the surface, but eventually whatever the beast was seemed to lose interest in their presence for the rippling across the surface faded into what had become a chilled silence void of birdsong and forest noise.

“Let’s get this over with quickly,” Lexa said then. “One at a time, fill your container, everyone else eyes on the water.”

There was a pause as those around looked from person to person, each one unsure of who was to proceed first, perhaps in part because they didn’t quite know what kind of animal had been under the water. Or perhaps, completely because of that.

Lexa sighed to herself, steeled her nerves and eyed the water’s edge for just a moment longer before she slung her rifle and began to move towards the river’s edge, water container in hand as a single thought took place within her mind; _don’t get eaten._

 

* * *

 

The walk back to the drop ship was a quiet affair, whatever had been beneath the surface of the river clearly having spooked members of her team.

Lexa continued to eye the lowering sun in the sky, and though she tried not to show it, she found herself eager to return to the safety of the drop ship and the makeshift camp she was sure was well underway to be set up by now.

Chatter had almost entirely ceased, too, each person weighed down by the water containers strapped to their back, and by their desire to keep a keener look out for any other abnormal beasts that might be lurking in the shadows.

Raven stumbled ahead, the woman cursed and righted herself awkwardly, Harper quick to come to her aid with an offered hand. Lexa took enough time to register Raven found sure footing. Satisfied, Lexa turned to look over her shoulder, her place at the rear of her team purposeful, if only because she thought it the responsible thing to do to make sure none of her team was lost along the way.

But Lexa looked over her shoulder for she felt that same odd tingling in the depths of her mind that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She didn’t quite know why she felt that way, and she didn’t quite know why she felt compulsion to turn, to look into the shadows of the giant moss covered trees. But she did, and she found herself straining to see anything in the shadows, anything in the swaying of the branches overhead, and anything in the depths of the forest in all its mighty untamed unknown.

“Lexa,” she startled at her whispered name, and as she turned back the way she walked she found Bellamy frowning as he came to walk next to her. “Everything ok?”

She paused just once more to look over her shoulder before shaking her head and turning forwards.

“Yeah,” and she was sure it was nothing. “I’m just being paranoid, whatever that was at the river got under my skin.”

“I don’t blame you,” Bellamy said quietly as he glanced over his own shoulder. “There’s probably a whole bunch of creatures that the radiation messed up over the last century. At least no one got hurt.”

“Yeah,” and Lexa shivered at the continuing drop in temperature as the sun continued lowering. “At least no one got hurt.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke sat on her bed, her legs crossed and her eyes closed. Each breath she took came slow and full of purpose.She listened to the noise of the Polis streets so very far below. She listened to the birdcall that made itself heard over the wind, and she listened to the slightest of noises that she could hear outside her door. She heard the footsteps of servants moving about, she heard the quiet clink of warriors and their weapons and armours, and she heard the ever present breathing of the guards that stood outside her door.

Her day had been long, the cut she gave herself with her throwing knives not the only injury of her day’s training session. A wayward sword had found its way past her defences, or perhaps it wasn’t quite so accidental, if only because she had seen an opportunity to exploit an overconfident warrior’s attack, the only loss being a shallow cut across her thigh that she knew would do little to distract from disarming, from killing her opponent had it been a true fight to the death.

But still, despite the wound and its anticipation, the burn, the stinging pain and the itching that had crawled into her muscle, into her flesh, and made her teeth grit, had made her lips snarl and her anger flow into each successive attack she laid upon the stunned warrior until her thigh had stitched itself together with little care for the discomfort it gave her.

“Does it still hurt?”

Clarke’s eyes opened to find Ontari looking at her from where she sat opposite her on her bed, legs crossed, and furs wrapped around her shoulders.

“No,” Clarke said as she looked down to her thigh to find the grey of her flesh seemingly a shade of shallow blue in the gentle candle light.

“Will it scar?” Ontari asked and Clarke could hear the curiosity in her voice.

“Perhaps,” and it was a truth for Clarke didn’t quite know why some wounds scarred more than most, why some littered her body with glistening white spiderwebs of stitched skin.

Ontari’s gaze seemed to linger upon where the scar across her chest lay, and Clarke knew the woman was picturing it in her mind, was recalling it with every little detail that could be conjured from the times she had seen her without a top on.

“That wound,” Clarke said quietly as she looked down to her own chest to find the light sleep shirt she wore did little to hold back the cool of the night’s breeze. “It was deep,” and Clarke recalled the pain, she recalled the burning, searing, furious heat that had taken hold of every little fibre of her being as her flesh, her bone and muscle had pulled itself back together. “Very deep,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to grimace as she remembered seeing her heart for only a fraction of a second, of seeing it beating its black beat for far longer than she had ever wanted before falling unconscious.

Ontari didn’t say anything at that, and perhaps it was in part because she didn’t wish to pry, was too respectful, or was too understanding of whatever pains the wound still inflicted upon her. But regardless of the reason, Clarke was thankful Ontari didn’t pry.

The approach of feet echoing out brought her attention to her quarter’s door, she heard the distinct sound of the swaying robes of her advisor, and as a knock echoed out Clarke found herself already sliding from her bed and coming to stand, her shoulders squaring and her hands clasped behind her back as she called for Titus to enter.

“Heda,” Titus bowed his head as he stepped inside and the motion let the candle light dance across his bald head and highlight the ring of intricate and woven tattoos that covered his scalp.

“Titus,” Clarke said as she stepped closer, head cocked to the side in curiosity at the apprehension she sensed rolling off his body. “It is late,” she came to a stop in front of him. “What has happened?”

“The Mountain Men,” he said as he met her gaze, his voice gravelly and equal parts angry and fearful. “More have arrived.”

“More?” Ontari’s voice spit out the word as if it were insult and for a moment Clarke fought the smile that threatened to creep across her lips as she could imagine the way Ontari’s lips would have just looked twisted in disgust.

“From where, Titus?” Clarke asked.

And so Titus seemed to steel himself for whatever he was about to say.

“The sky, Heda.”


	5. Chapter 5

It was dark and quiet when Clarke rode into Ton DC. The night sky was a deep and dark purple, and stars sparkled and hid behind swaths of grey. Ton DC was a surprisingly small village for just how important it was. Its distance, or perhaps its proximity, to the Mountain made its location buried in the depths of Trikru forests a perfect place for a staging ground for any attack to be launched against their enemy.

And yet it never grew too large, never contained more than just enough warriors to deal with the always roaming reaper parties. But that was by design. Clarke knew that Ton DC would always be watched, would always be prone to attack. And she knew that if the Mountain truly believed that Ton DC were to become a direct threat, then they would strike, would wipe it out and leave them unable to provide for any army hidden in the forests.

And so she kept Ton DC’s size small.

Clarke hushed her horse with a gentle stroking down its mighty neck, her own apprehension perhaps triggering her steed. The gates and walls of Ton DC were grand, parts rusted metal wrought into shape over generations, parts were vine covered and others seemed more natural forest than built structure.

Clarke came to a stop just inside the gates of Ton DC, the few warriors she rode with quick to dismount and greet those waiting for them with quiet words of acknowledgement. Ontari, ever present, ever near, and Gustus, her keen shadow of a guard dismounted their own horses before coming to stand by her side, each one casting furtive glances back through the gates and into the forests that surrounded.

It didn’t take Clarke long before she spotted the village chief. Indra was a woman of few words who had fought the Mountain for longer than Clarke had been alive. Dark skinned and scar faced, Indra had always been a welcomed appearance on and off the battlefield due to her cunning, her experience and her dislike for those that did little to support their words with action.

“Indra,” Clarke said in greeting as she began to walk forwards, her horse passed off to a young second who stared at her wide eyed and far too curious for their first’s approval.

“Heda,” Indra said, her voice low and rich yet quiet, as she extended her arm out in greeting for Clarke to grasp. “We have prepared a meal for you,” Indra said quietly as she began to walk beside her.

“Thank you, Indra,” Clarke said, her feet already taking her to the war room where she knew her meal would be waiting.

 

* * *

 

The war room of Ton DC was an underground bunker that was found at the end of a stone passageway of beaten and weathered steps located at the centre of Ton DC. The passageway stone was smoothed from years of use with signs of fighting etched across every surface. Even dark blood stains in the cracks of the stone walls remained from battles long since gone. Flaming torches hung from sconces bolted into the stone of the walls, they hung from the ceiling by chain where they swung ever so slightly to the presence of those that past.

As Clarke continued to walk down the steps she found herself taking in the tapestries that had always lined the walls of the passageway, some showed battles, stories old and fabled, and tales of mystery and intrigue. But the passageway and steps levelled out to a small room occupied by one large door before them and two warriors standing guard. Both warriors warriors bowed their greeting as Clarke continued through the door she came to stand in the war room.

The war room was large, perhaps even grand. Its walls of stone reached up higher than could be expected before curving towards the centre of the room to create one large continuous arc that spanned the entire length of the room’s interior. More flaming torches hung from chain from the curved ceiling, their light danced across the stone and bathed the interior in a yellow glow.

A single large rectangular table dominated the centre of the room. Upon one end of the table lay a large map, its corners held down by models of surrounding landmarks, of villages and the whereabouts of known reaper camps. Laid out across the other end of the table were foods, meats, vegetables and roots roasted and spiced. Dried fruits and cheeses and even sweetsmade from honey and sugars were present as well.

“We will eat,” Clarke said and she began to move for the nearest chair. “We will discuss the Mountain after.”

 

* * *

 

Plates lay stacked high, spoons, knives and forks were placed into neatpiles and pitchers of warm drink were being refilled by seconds, some more obvious in their admiration of the warriors who rode with her, others more focused on their given tasks.

Clarke leant back in the chair, one hand resting atop the weathered table, a finger tapping to the rhythm of some old song she had once thought familiar.

Ontari sat beside her, the woman running a spoon around the sides of a small bowl as she tried to scrape up the last of a custard dessert she had clearly taken a fancy to.

Clarke looked around her and to the other warriors who around the table. Those who travelled with her were much more easily identified by their more neutral coloured clothes where they so often needed to blend into more than just the forests or frozen wilds, or even open plains. Indra and her warriors wore the usual dark browns and blacks and greens that helped hide them from sight amongst the forests of Trikru lands.

The clinking of a mug coming down onto the table caught her attention and Clarke glanced out the corner of her eye to see Gustus wiping the back of his hand across his mouth before he sat up a little more straight and let his size dwarf the young second who reached out to refill his drink.

“Indra,” Clarke said as she turned her attention to the village chief to find her patiently looking at her, both hands resting atop the war table.

“Heda,” Indra said as she inclined her head just once. “More have arrived with _tech_ ,” Indra began. “They came to the ground in a metal vessel.”

“Like the skyfire?” Clarke asked and she remembered the first time she had seen the devastation the Mountain Men had caused with the skyfire that had laid waste to a bridge they had been trying to build across a raging river.

“Perhaps,” Indra said. “But this one was large. As large as a building,” she paused as she looked to left and at a woman who sat beside her.

“Yes,” the woman said as she leant forward, the amber of her skin warm and smooth in the yellow firelight.

“Costia,” Indra offered before falling quiet.

“Heda,” the woman began. “I am Costia. I saw with my own eyes when and where they landed,” she paused then, perhaps to recall, perhaps to consider how best to explain. “They have tech like the Mountain, they talk like the Mountain,” her lips twisted in disgust. “They even wish to travel to the Mountain.”

“You have not been seen?” Clarke asked and she leant forward as she inspected the young woman who she thought must not be much older than herself, perhaps even closer to a second than a scarred and blooded warrior.

“No,” Costia said as she shook her head. “I have watched from the trees only.”

“Good,” Clarke said, and she wondered just how much these new enemies knew.

“I do not think they realise the dangers of the forest,” Costia offered.

“Explain.”

“I was watching a group scouting for supplies,” she continued. “They arrived at the river closest to the shallow steps,” and Costia stood and gestured to where a model was placed on the map. “They did not know of the river beasts.”

Clarke took the time to let all the information sink into her mind, and as she did she found herself contemplating strategy, scenario, what it must mean if the Mountain Men had called for reinforcements and just how much her hopes of destroying the Mountain for good would need to change.

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath then, perhaps to ease the frustration that this new revelation would cause, or perhaps simply because she enjoyed the remnants of the foods that still scented the air.

But Clarke’s eyes opened and she looked around the table and to all those that sat, some eager for action, some more cautious, and even one whose gaze seemed distant, faraway and unsure.

“Maya,” Clarke said, her voice hard.

The woman startled, her mind clearly elsewhere.

“Heda” she asked as she looked up.

“What would you do with these new Mountain Men?”

Maya seemed to think for a very long moment, she chewed on her lip and took a second to look at each face that looked at her expectantly before answering quietly.

“I would attack them, Heda.”

 

* * *

 

Anya paced back and forth, her mind racing, her thoughts frayed. The lights overhead seemed to cast the entire command centre in a blue hue that at times looked purple, and at times look far too bright for the mood.

Anya looked at Kane to find the man frowning, arms folded as she stared at the radio as the technician continued to fiddle with its dials in an attempt to get it to work. Others crowded around too, each one hopefully anticipating a successful connection.

Since the volunteers had arrived on the ground the only contact they had had was the brief morse code signal sent to them that read: _landing successful. Gathering supplies. Will make audio contact in 24 hours._

The Ark had waited, it had counted down hour after hour, until it had come time. Those with high enough clearance had all crammed into the command centre, those without had lined the halls in the hopes of hearing any news, good or bad, as soon as possible.

And so that was where Anya now found herself. Jackson stood beside her, the man’s face frowning and his hands stuffed into the oversized pockets of his white medical robe.

“Got it,” the technician said and as if as one, everyone in the command centre quietened, leant closer to where the radio with the range extender had been placed on the table and they listened.

Anya could hear her heart beating in her ears, she could almost feel the blood rushing through her veins, but she kept her face calm, she kept expression serene. Or at least she tried, for if she didn’t, she was sure she would collapse, would break apart and not know how to fix herself.

A crackle of static filled the air before a voice emanated from the radio.

_This is Lexa_

Anya felt her lips twitch up into a smile.

“Ark here, this is Kane. What’s it like, Lexa?” Kane said as he leant forward.

 _Kane_ , a pause before continuing. _The Earth’s survivable._

 

* * *

 

Lexa was tired. The conversation with the Ark had lasted what seemed like hours. She, and the other team leaders had all taken turns informing the Ark about their progress, they had answered questions when they could, and had given as much information as possible.

She looked up into the night’s sky from where she sat at the edges of the camp they had erected and she couldn’t help but to try and find the Ark amongst the stars. But she didn’t quite know where it would be, she didn’t even know if it was even over the right hemisphere.

She didn’t say anything at the time, either, but she was relieved to hear Anya’s voice, she was relieved to hear the change in tone where once there was nothing but desperation, now was a defiance, a determination.

Being on the ground still hadn’t quite settled for her even after the few days they had been scavenging, foraging, searching and cataloging all they could. It was in part because she still hadn’t become used to the very slight change in gravity, and perhaps in part because she didn’t quite have any friends on the ground to share in the joy. Bellamy was an amusement at times, Raven, Harper and Monty more level headed, and it wasn’t that she didn’t mind their company during their scouting, it wasn’t that she didn’t like any of them, but she couldn’t shake the sense of longing she had for Anya. It wasn’t a romantic longing either, not even something she fully understood, but perhaps it was because she knew Anya would enjoy the ground, would embrace it and adapt as quickly as she adapted to the revelation that the Ark had problems unfixable.

Perhaps it was simply because Anya was the only true friend Lexa had had for as long as she could remembe—

Something caught her attention from where she sat with a fire to her back. Lexa didn’t quite know what it was, she didn’t quite even understand why the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand up on end, but as she looked into the trees before her she couldn’t shake the feeling that something watched her from the shadows.

Other scouting parties had found animals, some more mutated by the radiation than others, and some even dangerous. That was partly why they were in the middle of placing walls around the drop ship lest an animal stumble into their camp.

But as Lexa continued to look into the darkness that swallowed the forest she was sure she sensed something recoil, something move just barely into the shadows, but enough that its presence was no longer seen.

It wasn’t until Lexa felt the click of her rifle’s safety catch echo out around her that she realised she had unslung it and levelled it before her, feet widened in stance and eyes squinting into the dark.

“Everything ok?”

Lexa turned to find Bellamy walking up to her cautiously, his own rifle already in hand as he looked past her and into the trees.

“Yeah,” she said, and she turned back to the forest in the hopes of finding sight of whatever it was. “Maybe,” and she shook her head.

“It’s probably just the nerves from earlier,” Bellamy offered with the half smile she found him fond of.

“Yeah, maybe,” Lexa said, and she didn’t think it too far fetched that first contact with the Ark, that them being so close yet so far, had frayed her mind that expected. But still, she didn’t wish to take chances. “I’m going to check it out.”

“Really?” Bellamy asked. “Now?” and he gestured around them, “It’s dark, Lexa. You should be getting some sleep.”

She paused, part of her wanting to delve into the forest, rifle in hand, and part of her longed for her tent and sleeping pack, and whatever small comforts it could offer.

“Yeah, ok,” she said as she looked just once more into the forest before turning back to the camp. “Let’s get some rest.”

 

* * *

 

“So why’d you volunteer?” Raven asked as she ducked under a low hanging branch.

Monty didn’t respond straight away, and from the way he looked to Harper, Lexa thought something more to whatever he was about to say.

“I wanted to help,” Monty said after a moment. “We needed people on the ground who’d be able to figure out what to eat and what to avoid,” he continued. “I knew I could do that,” and he looked at Harper once more. “So I volunteered.”

“Same,” Raven said as she turned to face Monty from where she walked ahead. “But with engineering instead of plants,” and she nodded to Harper. “And I’m guessing you’re the same, too? But with Hydro?”

“Yeah,” Harper said. “The same.”

Lexa sighed as she stepped over a fallen tree trunk, the conversation that flowed from person to person fading into the background as she began thinking about the previous night when she had been sure something was watching her.

Part of her thought she was being overdramatic, too prone to worry and paranoid. But still, she couldn’t help but to look into the trees every so often, and each time she did so, she found herself half expecting to see feral eyes staring back at her.

A shadow falling across her path broke her attention then and as Lexa looked up she found Bellamy falling into step beside her, his rifle in hand and his own gaze moving from tree to tree around them.

“Don’t tell me I’ve made you paranoid, too,” she said it half in jest, half in relief, if only because she thought it better that other people felt like they were being watched. If only for her own sanity.

“Look,” and Bellamy shrugged. “After the rive monster I’m not taking any chances,” and he smiled. “You’re the boss and I’m supposed to be team’s security. If you think something’s watching us then I’m supposed to be keeping us safe.”

Lexa couldn’t deny the logic in that, and perhaps even getting to know those on her team more couldn’t hurt.

“Is that why you volunteered?” she asked.

“To keep everyone safe?” Bellamy’s voice seemed a little more quiet.

“Yeah,” and Lexa found herself wondering what it must have been like to be the only person on the Ark with a sibling.

Bellamy fell silent though, and Lexa was sure she had hit a sore spot, something perhaps a little too raw to talk about. But before she could take back her words, before she could tell Bellamy to forget she said anything he simply smiled, laughed something between sadness and bitter longing and seemed to accept whatever demons must have plagued his thoughts.

“After my mother was floated,” he began, “I was sure they were going to lock me and Octavia up,” he said. “I thought maybe I’d be floated, too,” and he shook his head. “ _I wasn’t to blame_ ,” he said. “That’s what I was told. I wasn’t to blame for her actions, so nothing happened to me. Same for Octavia,” and he shook his head as he stepped through a bush. “A life for a life. Our mother was floated but Octavia went free.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa said quietly.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard the rumours, for something so alarming as a second child being born was hard to keep a secret, but still, she found it just a little more confronting hearing it from someone who had experienced it first hand.

“So yeah,” Bellamy said with a shrug. “My sister my responsibility. I need to do whatever I can to make sure she’s safe. So if that means volunteering on a suicide mission then that’s what I need to do.”

“You’re a good brother, Bellamy,” Lexa said, and for just a moment she found herself wondering if she had ever used that word in conversation before.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” he said with a little laugh.

“What is?” and she looked up to find the darkness that had been in his eyes replaced by a calm and a serenity.

“That word,” and he gestured to everyone else around them. “ _Brother._ No one else ha—”

A growl erupted from the undergrowth, it seemed deep, guttural, violent and far too close for Lexa’s comfort.

Harper yelped, spun around in the direction of the growl and levelled her rifle, Raven back-peddled from where she had been walking ahead of the group until she bumped into Monty, and the others all drew their weapons.

Silence settled over them then, the growl seemed to fade and Lexa found the hair on the back of her neck raising.

“What was that?” someone hissed and Lexa couldn’t help but grimace as the voice further than she would have liked.

“Everyone bac—”

It happened fast.

A roar broke the silence as a figure, a beast, a monster and a man broke free from the undergrowth. The monster - a man, what would have once been human snarled and barred wicked teeth. Red seemed to cover his face, white seemed to stain his skin, and Lexa didn’t spend too long trying to decipher what the lumps under his skin, or the open wounds that bled across his exposed flesh must have meant before all hell broke loose.

More of those monsters exploded out from the shadows, Monty yelled a warning before firing a shot that his the lead monster squarely in the chest. Raven tripped, fell to the ground and was pounced on before Harper dove atop her, rifle striking the monster over the back of its head before it collapsed.

And then they ran.

Lexa didn’t know if she had given the order to retreat, she didn’t know if she had even told them where to run, but her team scattered none the less. Bellamy stood where he was firing into the ground of monsters as those around him began to race back towards camp. Lexa in turn fired her own rifle, each shot too loud, too close, too deafening for her to understand. She didn’t know if the red she saw was the spray of blood or of whatever grotesque pain covered the monsters, she did know if the smell, foul and putrid came from them or from any one of those in her team who may have soiled themselves in fear. And she didn’t care.

Lexa began to turn, began to run, began to flee. But she couldn’t, not when Bellamy seemed to be doing a stupidly good job of sacrificing himself in a foolish attempt to hold back what seemed to be a sea of monsters.

She screamed his name, she cried out a warning to flee, she shouted an order to run, to head back to camp, but he seemed not to hear her.

And so Lexa cursed herself as she stopped, as she skidded to a halt and turned before running forwards and towards Bellamy. Lexa fired her rifle, she didn’t even think she took long enough to aim as she reached out and snared Bellamy by the elbow.

“Come on,” she hissed as she fired a shot over his shoulder and at a monster that almost pounced on them.

And so they ran. Bellamy and Lexa ran hard, they ran fast. Lexa shouted a direction and she pointed to where she was sure the others had fled. Bellamy jumped over a bush, slid and scrambled to find his balance and raced forward. Lexa ran, she dove, she ducked and panicked her way past tree and bush and shadow.

The roars of the monsters seemed to grow louder and louder now that the shooting had stopped, they even seemed spurred on by the lack of challenge. And they seemed inhuman, they seemed unnatural, far too beastly to be anything but mutated and grotesque.

But there was a change in the air, there was a sudden drop in temperature and a blackening of the sky. Even the roars and growls of those who chased died only to be replaced by what seemed like a distant howling storm.

Lexa came to a heaving stop, her lungs expanding painfully with each breath she took. Even Bellamy seemed shaken, disturbed, uncertain and unsure. Sweat dripped from his brow, his rifle remained clutched in his white knuckle grasp and Lexa could even see his fingers shaking.

“What were they?” Bellamy hissed as he turned to face the way they had run, rifle already shouldered as he strained to see through the dark. “And what is happening?”

Lexa looked up into the sky, perhaps in the hopes of spying the storm that must be raging close by, but all she saw was the blue that split through the canopy overhead.

“And why did they stop chasing us?” Bellamy said, but Lexa didn’t think he expected an answ—

Then she saw it. At first she thought it was a trick of the mind, but as she continued to look she realised that the distant forest seemed to be awash in a sea of sickly orange that seemed to be growing faster and faster.

The sound of the storm grew louder, too, each passing second grow in intensity, in deafening rumbles. And then she realised.

What had been chasing them had fled as soon as the storm started, whatever the noise was that echoed out through the forest was that orange haze in the distance, and as she looked just a little harder she realised that it approached with more speed than she could anticipa—

“Run,” Bellamy seemed to be thinking the exact same thing for he grabbed her by the shoulder, spun her around and began to run.

Lexa didn’t need to second guess his assumption that the orange glow was dangerous, all she needed to do was run.

And so she did.

Lexa ran hard, she ran fast, Bellamy raced ahead, he ducked under tree, shouted over his shoulder at her to hurry, to follow his voice as the green of the forest, as the brown of the trees and the blue of the sky began to take on a sickly orange glow.

Pain started prickling up and down Lexa’s back, and she dared to turn and look over her shoulder only to find that the orange storm had raced closer and closer. She could see it closing the distance, she could see it swallowing the forest whole, she could see leaf beginning to burn, crackle, and dissolve.

And fear.

Fear spiked, fear increased, terror filled her veins as she realised that the pain burning across her back was the barest hints of the orange storm, was whatever radioactive remnants of the nuclear bombs, and that it would consume her, dissolve her, melt her down into a puddle of blood, of puss, before dissolving her into the ground.

And Lexa tripped.

She tripped for she had been too occupied with terror, with trying to get away, with trying to make sense of everything she had seen in the last few seconds.

Lexa hit the ground hard, her forehead smashed into a tree trunk and she bit her lip and tasted blood. Pain exploded across her face and her eyes watered. And she couldn’t see. Lexa couldn’t see as the orange began to close, as it began to fill her senses.

She scrambled on her hands and knees, she swore, she cursed and she raged into the forest as she tried to get away, as she tried to find somewhere, someway of escaping the burning that seemed to be engulfing her with every passing second.

But as panic began to truly set in, as fear began to take control of her actions, and as animalistic instinct began to take hold of every little fibre of her being, Lexa felt strong hands grab her by the shoulders and drag her to her feet.

A voice shouted for her to follow, to run, to race and shadow their steps.

And so she did.

Lexa blindly fumbled and stumbled after the voice, she ignored the burning that washed against her face. But the voice, the body, the person stopped in their tracks, leant down and pulled something from the ground.

And it was a door, a hatch, something that led into a darkness.

“Get in,” the person roared over the raging of the burning storm, and Lexa cared not for where it may lead, she cared not for what may lie in wait and so she dove head first into the hatch.

Lexa hit something hard and the thump of feet falling down beside her told her that whoever it was had dove in behind her. The grating of metal against metal echoed out around her and she new the hatch had closed, had sealed behind them and locked them in whatever sanctuary she had found.

Lexa coughed, she spluttered and tried wiping the burn from her face, her eyes closed lest they sting more than they should.

“Hey,” a man’s voice said quietly, and flinched in shock as she felt water splashed against her face. “For the burning,” he said. “You can open your eyes.”

Lexa could be forgiven for not quite taking him at his words, and so she opened one first, the motion cautious and slow. She half expected a stinging burning sensation as soon as she could see, but true to his words no burn came.

Instead, as Lexa opened her other eye, she found herself lying on the ground of what must have been a small bunker. The walls were concrete and weathered to years of use. Buckets lay across one wall, another by her side that must have been what was used to splash her with water.

But then her gaze fell to the man who knelt down beside her.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his hands held out in peaceful offering. “I’m here to help,” and he shuffled backwards on his knees. “I saw the reapers attacking you, and then the acid fog came,” and he gestured to his own body to show that he, too, had drenched himself in water. “The water stops the burning,” he continued. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

Lexa wiped a hand across her face and grimaced as she felt the burn return, this time lessened.

“Yeah,” he said with a tight smile. “Don’t do that. There’s still some acid residue on our clothes.”

“I—” Lexa coughed as she looked around herself once more before taking in the man completely to find that she didn’t recognise him. “Who are you?” she asked as she took in the camouflaged uniform he wore, the short cropped light brown hair and the weathered face of someone she recognised must be a soldier.

And so the man smiled as he held out a hand.

“Carl Emerson. Mount Weather security detail.”


	6. Chapter 6

It was part shock and part relief that flooded Lexa’s mind. Perhaps she should have considered the fact that people could have survived on the ground, especially in underground facilities that had ben designed to withstand nuclear explosions. But she had never really given the possibility much thought.

And so, as Carl Emerson withdrew his hand slowly, and as an understanding smile touched his lips, Lexa found herself laughing, she found herself unable to contain the emotions that seemed to be taking hold.

So many things she knew about Earth were wrong, from it being uninhabitable, void of intelligent life, and to it being infested with monsters, with something between man and beast. Even the weather wanted to kill, to destroy and to burn.

But Lexa’s laughing died out as soon as it begun, and all those emotions fled her just as quickly as they had bubbled to the surface.

“I understand,” Carl said then, and she watched as he turned walked a few short paces to a chair with its back to the small bunker’s wall. “I had the exact same reaction when our cameras picked up your people coming out of the drop pod.”

“I—” Lexa paused for she didn’t know what to say.

“We thought we were the only people left on Earth,” he said with a smile. “And I think you thought the same.”

Lexa winced as she shuffled on the spot where she stood, the just barely there burn of her clothes still enough to cause discomfort.

“You might as well take a seat,” Carl said and he gestured to the opposite wall, and as Lexa looked she found another chair waiting for her. “The acid fog doesn’t dissipate for hours.”

And so Lexa found herself moving to the chair and taking a seat, her motions a little robotic and her thoughts trying to organise themselves. But as she sat and came to face Carl, she found herself simply taking in a relieved breath, if only because whatever terrors those monsters were seemed not to be able to get in, or had simply been chased away by what she now knows to be called acid fog.

“Lexa,” she said after a moment and she watched as Carl’s face frowned before turning into a smile. “Operations officer. Government and Sciences Ring, the Ark.”

“Nice to meet you Lexa,” Carl said.

“How?” she asked, but she wasn’t sure if she asked Carl _how_ humanity had survived, _how_ he had found her, or simply just _how_ _anything_.

“When the bombs fell,” Carl began. “Our ancestors were the soldiers, scientists, janitors, chefs even a politician or two, anyone inside Mount Weather. We were able to survive the blasts.”

“We didn’t think anyone else made it,” Lexa said quietly. “We thought we were the only people left in the entire universe.”

Lexa fell silent then, and she began to think, began to consider, began to analyse everything that must have happened since the bombs fell.

“We tried contacting anyone after the bombs,” she said and she found Carl looking at her with a sad glint in his eyes. “We tried. We tried all the Earth governments that could have survived but no one responded.”

“Our communications were knocked out by the explosions and the following EMPs,” Carl said. “We didn’t get them running until years later.”

“There was no sign of life,” Lexa whispered, her voice quiet and frayed. “Hardly any sign of vegetation, at least not enough to provide for any large population for years.”

“We lived underground for the first decade or two,” Carl said equally as quietly. “We rationed everything. Made mistakes along the way, and sacrificed when it was required.”

Lexa didn’t need to pry, she didn’t need to guess or to wonder what Carl spoke of, for her people — _their people —_ had done just as much in times of desperation.

Part of her wanted to break down, part of her wanted to collapse into a ball and curse their years of isolation, their years of wasted opportunity to rebuild what was left of the human population. But she knew none of that would help, none of that would be useful and so she took one last second to regret all the decisions that had been taken before she locked them away somewhere deep into the recesses of her mind.

“What were those things?” Lexa asked and she watched as Carl grimaced, as he nodded and seemed to look into a shadow as memories took hold.

“We aren’t entirely sure,” he said eventually. “We know they’re the surface survivors. Those with whatever genetic makeup allowed them to adapt and to survive the radiation.”

“A mutation?” Lexa asked.

“The first surface party we sent outside after almost a decade,” Carl said. “They ran into what we call reapers. And they were hacked to pieces, torn apart.”

Lexa grimaced at the mental image Carl’s words conjured, and she had no doubt that the reapers were capable of such things, if only because their own features had seemed grotesque, modified with what she had thought were tattoos, scars, ritualistic and barbaric.

“That’s why we didn’t make contact with your people sooner,” Carl continued. “It’s dangerous in the forests. We can’t take risks with anyone’s life unless it’s very important.”

Lexa wasn’t surprised, if only because she knew any life was valuable, especially with how low humanities numbers must be.

“But now?” Lexa asked.

“We need to work together,” Carl continued with a smile. “When the reapers came and when the acid fog came we couldn’t wait any longer. So I was sent out to make contact.”

“Just you?” Lexa asked.

“It’s easier not to draw attention to yourself if you’re the only one walking around,” he said. “I’m surprised your people didn’t stumble onto the reapers sooner than you did.”

“Just dumb luck, I guess,” Lexa said and she couldn’t say she was displeased with having not come face to face with the reapers any sooner.

Carl smiled before he reclined in his chair and seemed to get into a more comfortable position.

“Now what?” Lexa asked.

“Now we wait until the acid fog dissipates.”

 

* * *

 

The warmth and brightness of an early morning sun streamed in through the cracks of a wooden shuttered window. Clarke sat in a chair, her gaze turned to a painting of old that hung in the centre of a blank stone wall. Ontari sat behind her, the woman’s fingers moving through her hair as they braided, twisted and tamed.

Every now and then Clarke fought back a wince as Ontari pulled a knot free, every now and then Clarke fought back a grimace at the tugging of her scalp and every now and then she wondered just what would happen if she let her hair go unbraided.

She thought long and hard over the things Costia had said. She thought long and hard over the reports Indra’s scouts had delivered and she considered what it must mean that the Mountain may have reinforcements, that they may have bided their time and waited for whatever they deemed the perfect moment to strike.

And yet Clarke thought there must be more, and the answers for which, she hoped would come soon.

A knock sounded from the closed doors to her quarters in Ton DC. Ontari took only a moment longer before she twisted one last braid into place before moving back from her and coming to stand against the wall, her hands held behind her back and her chin raised in what Clarke had come to find a familiar sight.

“Enter,” Clarke said as she shifted in the chair she sat in and crossed one leg over the other as one hand fell to her side where one of her knives remained hidden in her furs.

The door opened with barely a sound to reveal Gustus, broad shouldered and stern eyed standing before her. Behind him stood Maya, the woman in a thick and beaten leather coat and her wild hair pulled back with a simple braid.

Gustus stepped through and nodded at Ontari before he took his place beside the door. Maya followed him through with a careful few steps and through it all Clarke watched as Gustus followed the woman’s motions with his eyes, one hand never far from the knife strapped to his own hip. Beyond her door Clarke saw more guards, warriors and village people moving through the corridor.

“Sit,” Clarke said as she gestured for a chair not far from Maya.

The chair Maya sat in was old and wooden. Its frame cracked in places, bound by weathered leather where needed. The chair even seemed to protest Maya’s weight with the barest of groans before embracing its fate.

Maya sat somewhere between hunched over and square shouldered. Her hands were folded in her lap demurely and she seemed not to be able to look anyone in the eyes for too long before she turned her gaze and stared into a shadow or into the rays of sunlight that broke through the wooden shuttered windows.

“Maya,” Clarke said, and she made sure her voice remained quiet and calm as she looked the woman in the eyes. “Look at me,” though soft, Clarke knew her tone would be recognised as order and command.

Maya looked up at her then, and Clarke wondered what the woman saw. She wondered if she saw her as a demon, as a monster, something to be feared or to be used. Clarke knew, in the rays of light haloing her face from behind, that her skin would appear almost translucent, that the black of her veins would make others picture spider webs etching their way beneath her skin.

And Clarke liked that.

If only because it always made those pause, consider and recoil when she stared at them for too long to be comfortable.

“I don’t know who they are,” Maya said eventually, and Clarke stared her in the eyes and she looked for deceit, she looked for a hiding of the truth but all she saw was a determined confusion.

“Yet they speak of travelling to the Mountain,” Clarke said, and she narrowed her eyes as she uncrossed her legs and planted her feet firmly on the floor before she leant forward.

“We believed we were the only people left,” Maya said.

“You have no knowledge of these new people?” and Clarke heard Ontari scoff.

“No, Heda. I do not.”

Clarke leant back as she found herself satisfied with Maya’s answers for the moment. Part of her believed that these newcomers from the sky would cause nothing but headaches, would derail all the plans she had made in recent times. And part of her believed the newcomers could be a blessing in disguise, that if she was smart, if she was intelligent and careful, she would be able to capitalise on their presence, would be able to sway them to her cause just as she had done Maya. But she knew she would need to strike soon. And she knew so for if these people were not in fact allies of the Mountain, then she would need to turn stranger to ally before the Mountain’s stench would sully their view of the world.

And so Clarke rose in one single motion, the light leathers she wore cut in patterns that exposed the scarred grey of her flesh enough to cause discomfort in most who looked upon her.

“Come Maya,” Clarke said and she gestured for the woman to rise and to follow her.

 

* * *

 

Clarke didn’t dare walk about outside during the daylight this close to the Mountain. Some would think it cowardice, others would think it weakness, but for her, it was more important that she not risk the lives of those that lived in Ton DC more than she already did.

It was too easy for her to be spotted by anyone looking, it was easy for her to stand out amongst the green and the brown of the forests. Perhaps that was why she had aligned herself so closely with Azgeda as soon as she could. If only because she could blend in with the freezing wilds of the ice and snow. And so Clarke settled for standing in the shadows of the archway that looked out to the open village centre.

Village people moved about, some in quiet conversation with others, some laughing, others rushing from one task to the other. Warriors moved about, too, some clearly headed to the healers, others in search of whatever awaits. Her warriors milled about, too, their numbers few, but their presence welcomed.

Maya stood beside her in uncomfortable silence but Clarke was happy for the time to pass without need to hurry, without need to move too quickly. She knew whatever was to come next would need to be executed perfectly or her chance at destroying the Mountain for good would go to waste.

“Once my kind was able to walk the forests without worry of being hunted like cattle,” Clarke said and she felt Maya stiffen beside her.

Maya didn’t respond though and Clarke knew she wouldn’t say anything, she knew Maya had little she could offer to give alleviate whatever pains still existed.

“No nightbloods have been born in years,” Clarke continued. “Or all those that have been born have been taken as far away from the Mountain as possible,” and Clarke couldn’t help but to feel her lips turn up into the barest hints of a snarl. “I was born in these forests,” she continued. “In a village not far from here.”

Maya didn’t say anything at that, either, she simply stood in the shadows, her head bowed ever so slightly as she twisted her fingers together in uncomfortable uncertainty.

“I will destroy the Mountain,” Clarke continued. “I will make it bleed. Just as it has made all nightbloods bleed,” and she could almost feel what it must be like to drive her blade into the heart of every single Mountain Man that would dare stand before her.

“Are you questioning my loyalties?” Maya asked then, and her voice seemed to border on fearful, on resigned, on something between sadness and acceptance.

“No,” Clarke said and she turned to face the woman. “You are not responsible for the sins of your forefathers.”

Maya looked her in the eyes then, and in her gaze Clarke saw a bitterness, something deep and steady, but she couldn’t tell whether that bitterness was directed at her, inwards or somewhere in the woman’s past.

“I will skin your leaders alive,” Clarke continued, and it surprised her to find that her voice remained just as calm as it would if she were discussion the weather. “I will pull your warriors limb from limb. And your healers — your _doctors —_ I will make them suffer a thousand deaths before they breathe their last breath,” Clarke could see from the corner of her eye that Ontari’s chest had begun to rise ever so rapidly with each proclamation. “But perhaps your innocents. Your children. They will be given the opportunity to learn the poison that is your people.”

 

* * *

 

“Two children,” Carl said with a small smile. “Almost 400 people live in Mount Weather.”

“There’s over two and a half thousand people on the Ark,” Lexa said.

“With those numbers,” Carl began, “when your people come down we’ll have a real chance at rebuilding civilisation,” he paused for a moment in thought. “Even genetically,” and he laughed. “I mean, I’m sure your people needed to be careful with who had children with who.”

“Yeah,” and Lexa tried to hide the grimace at the thought of what had once been a certainty in her ever approaching future. “We needed to be careful and everyone needed to play their part.”

Carl sighed and he ran a hand through his short hair before reclining a little further in his chair.

“No family up there?” Carl asked as he pointed upwards. “Or out there?”

“No,” Lexa shook her head. “Not yet.”

Carl smiled a sad smile then and Lexa knew he understood enough not to pry or to push the subject.

“My wife,” he said quietly. “Long ago, just after my second child turned two, she went out with a scouting party to look for supplies,” he paused and blinked back tears. “But the savages got to them.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa said, and not for the first time she flinched at the mental image forming in her mind.

“It’s ok,” Carl said eventually. “They left their bodies for us to find,” and Lexa found that Carl’s voice hardened and seemed to grow more cold. “That’s why our people need to work together,” he said. “We can rebuild what humanity has lost—”

A beeping cut into the quiet and Lexa’s eyes narrowed as she watched Carl look down at his wrist and to the watch that flashed a red line of text across its screen.

“Trouble?” Lexa asked and she looked up at the hatch in part to make sure no shadows of the monsters stood lurking outside.

“No,” Carl said with a smile as he unzipped a pocket on his pants and reached inside before pulling out a small metal canister with a window in it that seemed to show a thick black liquid contained within. “It’s medicine,” he said and Lexa was sure he saw the confused expression across her face. “We don’t have a natural cure for the radiation yet,” and she continued to watch as Carl rolled up his sleeve and twisted off what turned out to be a cap from one end of the canister to reveal a small needle. “But we’re continuously working on one,” he grunted as he found a vein and injected himself with the medicine. “Maybe your scientists could help?”

“I’m sure we can,” Lexa said and she was thankful she didn’t need to go through the endeavour of medicating herself. “Do you have enough to get back to Mount Weather?” she asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Carl said and Lexa found her eyes widening just a little as she watched the vein Carl had targeted blacken as the medicine met his blood stream and begin to flow up his arm and spider its way through each and every vein.

“That doesn’t hurt?” Lexa asked.

“It’s better than the alternative,” Carl said with a smile as he rolled down his sleeve and tucked the canister back into his pocket.

Carl stood up from the chair then and walked over the the small ladder that led up to the hatch that had kept them from burning in the acid fog.

“I think we can risk checking,” he said, and Lexa could be forgiven for not quite taking him at his word. “You can stand back if you want,” Carl said with a laugh as he began to rise up the few rungs of the ladder. “But grab me if I get burnt.”

Lexa nodded as she rose from her chair and took a cautious step forward as she eyed the hatch. Carl seemed to peer up at the edges of it, he seemed to take in a shallow breath as if to test if the air remained acid free.

He coughed then, and Lexa almost reached out and grabbed him before he waved her off.

“It’s ok,” he said as he reached out and grabbed the hatch’s rusted handle. “Just some residue.”

Carl took in a deeper breath as if to brace himself for the inevitable but then he pulled hard on the handle and pushed the hatch open with a grunt.

Sunlight streamed in from the opening and Lexa half expected for acid fog to stream in violently and engulf them both in an agonising blanket of searing heat. But instead all that met her was the calm of what must have been a late morning. She could just barely make out the blue of the sky that could be seen through the thick forest canopy overhead, and she could hear the birdsong that sang and chirped and she could even hear the rustle of the wind as it danced with the leaves.

“Come on,” Carl turned to face her with a smile, “it’s safe.”

Pulling herself out of the small bunker was more difficult than Lexa could have anticipated. Her body still not fully accustomed to the higher gravity. But as she came to stand up straight she found herself enjoying the fresh air and the smell of the forest despite the horrors of hours earlier.

“We should head back to safety,” Carl said quietly as he looked around them before pushing the hatch shut. “It’s best if I head back to Mount Weather now and tell them we’ve made contact,” and he patted the pocket that held the medicine.

“I understand,” Lexa said and she didn’t blame him for not wanting to be caught out in the open without anymore life saving medicine.

“The best thing to do if you stumble across anymore reapers is to hide,” Carl said, this time his voice was a little more iron. “You won’t be able to outrun them, and you won’t be able to fight them off, not by yourself. They always run in packs.”

“Thanks,” Lexa said and she looked around herself in the attempts to orient her position.

“That way,” Carl said as he gestured outwards. “Keep walking straight and you’ll arrive at a hill, from there you’ll be able to see the clearing your drop ship made.”

“Be safe, Carl,” Lexa said as she held out her hand.

“You, too,” and Carl smiled as he shook it firmly. “Give me two days and I’ll send a team to meet you at your camp. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

With that Carl nodded at her just once before turning and beginning to walk his way through the forest and towards where Lexa assumed Mount Weather lay. She continued to watch his retreating figure until it disappeared from view, blocked by the ever growing thickness of forest.

Lexa took in a deep shaky breath and unslung the rifle she had all but forgotten about. Its weight felt comfortable in her hands, especially after the run in with the reapers and the acid fog, and she spared a moment to thumb her safety off and then on again, and to check her bullet count before she turned back in the direction Carl had shown her.

And with that Lexa began what she assumed to be a slow and tedious trip through the forest and to the drop ship, all the while wondering just how she was going to explain Mount Weather to her people, and hoping not to run into anymore reapers.


	7. Chapter 7

Clarke sat in a wooden chair, her sleeve rolled up to the elbow and Ontari on her knees before her. It was late morning outside and the sounds of children playing, fighting, sparring and any other village noise filtered in through her shuttered window.

A single ray of sunlight streamed into the room she had taken residence within, and she marvelled at the motes of light that danced on what little of the breeze wriggled its way through the windows.

“The scouts, Heda?” Ontari asked quietly, frown across her face as she carefully unwrapped a vial from the case in her hands.

“Trikru warriors from Polis will arrive soon,” Clarke said and not for the first time she wondered if she had made a mistake ordering such large numbers of her warriors into the surrounding forests, she wondered if her people would be able to hide from the Mountain, she wondered if she had just doomed hundreds, perhaps thousands of her people to a fiery death.

“They will be well hidden,” Ontari said quietly as she looked up from where she knelt before her.

Clarke turned her gaze from a lonely mote of light and to the kneeling woman before her. Ontari’s hair was braided just the way she had always braided it, the patterns winding their way through the amber brown mess so very much like any young snow maiden of the great frozen Azgeda plains.

Despite the ferocity she knew Ontari prone to exhibit, despite the ruthlessness of the woman in battle, Clarke enjoyed the youth that clung to the woman’s cheeks, to the devotion in her eyes. Clarke reached out and let her hand come to rest against Ontari’s cheek softly, her fingers gentle as they stroked against the edges of the scars across her flesh.

The sight before her wasn’t unfamiliar, it certainly wasn’t the first time Ontari had ever been on her knees before her, she didn’t think it would be the last either. Part of Clarke hated whatever thing existed between them, and part of her cherished it for she knew life was too short to ignore bodily wants, just as she knew life was too short for her to let herself feel too much more for anyone.

“Heda?” Ontari asked quietly as she leant into her touch, one hand coming to rest atop Clarke’s knee in silent offering.

Clarke remained quiet as Ontari’s hand slowly began to move up the inside of her leg, her fingers sure, her eyes never wavering as she held her gaze. Clarke couldn’t help but to admire the determination beginning to take hold, but before Ontari could take her ministrations further Clarke reached down and let her hand close around Ontari’s wrist with a regretful squeeze.

“Perhaps later, Ontari,” Clarke said as she looked to the door of her quarters where shadows could be seen standing beyond. “Maya is waiting.”

It wasn’t uncommon for her to turn Ontari’s offers down and so it didn’t surprise her when Ontari pulled her hand back. Clarke held out her arm, sleeve still rolled up to her elbow and she watched as Ontari leant forward and kissed the inside of her wrist.

It was erotically obscene watching Ontari kiss the inside of her wrist with so much passion. Through it all Ontari’s gaze never wavered from hers. Clarke found herself drawn into the way the woman’s lips brushed and bruised against her skin, she found herself embracing the sting of teeth biting into her flesh and she found herself falling into the feeling of Ontari’s tongue as it soothed the flesh between her teeth. Clarke shivered as Ontari bit down just a little more firmly before pulling her mouth away and running the sharpened edge of her knife across the blackening bruise.

The pain was hardly felt as Clarke reached out and brushed away the traces of blood that clung to the woman’s lips. In response Ontari closed her lips around the pad of one of her fingers and nipped it with her teeth. But her moment’s distraction was broken as she felt a burning pain splinter through her now gaping wrist.

She looked down to see Ontari holding the vial to her wound and pressing it in to catch as much of her blood that spilled from the gaping cut before it closed. The first time they had done this Ontari had hardly cut deep enough for a single drop of blood to spill. It had taken Clarke’s own self-surgery before Ontari had been willing to cut so deep as to expose bone and tendon, but they had come to understand the moment they shared was important, was sacred, was something that needed to be done if their people were to survive.

Clarke watched as her wound began to stitch itself back together. She watched as she felt the burning and stinging pull at her flesh and she watched as the last of the wound closed to leave only the black of her blood across her flesh as sign that she had ever been hurt. Ontari held the vial up for her to see, the black of her blood seemingly shifting within the confines of where it now found itself as if it was a living, breathing mass.

Clarke stroked the side of Ontari’s face once more before she rose from her chair and wiped away the blood with a clean cloth as she rolled down her sleeve and turned to face the door, Ontari quick to come to her feet and stand beside her, vial held delicately in her hands.

“Enter,” Clarke called out.

The doors to her quarters were opened by Gustus who had been standing outside, the man’s body almost comically large compared to the door frame that silhouetted him. Maya, hair ever wild and kept back in a single braid down her back stepped past him awkwardly and came to stand just inside her quarters, hands holding a metallic canister and eyes turned downwards in awkward uncertainty. Clarke nodded to Gustus just once, the motion enough for the man to close the door and seal their privacy away from prying eyes.

Clarke noticed Maya’s fingers twitching ever so slightly though, and she couldn’t help but to feel sorry for the younger woman, just barely.

“How long do you have?” Clarke asked as she stepped forward.

“Not long,” Maya said as she looked up and met her gaze with something not quite fearful, and something not quite relaxed. “I can already feel the burning in my fingertips.

“Sit,” Clarke gestured for the very same chair she had been siting in not one moment earlier.

Maya moved to sit in the chair, the relief evident in the woman’s body as her shoulders relaxed a fraction. Pity took hold for only a split second for Clarke understood that Maya never quite knew if she would receive her next dose of blood, if she would be allowed to live for another day on the ground. But another part of Clarke wanted to rip the girl’s throat open, to make her bleed just as much as every single nightblood had bled for years. But Clarke was cold, she was calculating, she was ruthless and willing to do whatever it took.

Maya began to fumble with the canister in her hands, her fingers now shaking visibly as she tried to open the end that would accept the vial of Clarke’s blood held in Ontari’s hands.

Clarke knew the signs of desperation, she knew the signs of panic all too well from the number of people she had slipped her blades into throughout her years as Commander. And so Clarke recognised the slightest signs of panic beginning to form within Maya’s eyes as she began to scratch at the side of her wrist, as her lips began to tremble and as her eyes darted up from the canister and to Ontari who had made no moves to help so far.

“What I give to you is a gift,” Clarke said slowly, her voice emotionless and cold.

“Yes, Heda,” Maya said and Clarke could see tears beginning to form in the corner of Maya’s eyes as her flesh began to just barely twitch on its own accord.

“What your people take from my brothers and sisters is not theirs to take,” and Clarke wondered just how far she could let Maya burn before her blood wouldn’t save her.

“I know, Heda,” Maya said, her voice now frayed and hoarse.

Clarke fell silent as she watched Maya’s knuckles whiten around the canister in her hands as she held it outwards to Ontari, the motion part desperate and part resigned acceptance.

“Help her,” Clarke said finally and Ontari stepped forward, took the canister from Maya’s hands and slipped the vial into it. A satisfying hiss echoed out then and Clarke watched as Maya desperately rolled up her sleeve to reveal that her flesh had reddened, that her veins had began to grow more and more pronounced.

Maya took back the canister and pressed it to one of her veins as she pressed a button on its side. She grimaced, her fingers clawed at the air, and always fascinated, Clarke watched as the window in the canister showed her blood forced down and into Maya’s arm, into whatever vein the woman had found. She watched as the black of what she had given willingly began to spider and creep its way through the woman’s veins and up her arm and she watched as a tear escaped past Maya’s closed eyes and followed the curve of her cheek.

Maya’s breaths began to come more ragged and faster as the blood Clarke had gifted her began flowing through her veins. Clarke watched as the woman’s skin tone fluctuated just a little before returning to what it had been earlier. It took another moment before Maya’s breathing settled and her eyes opened and then whatever discomfort, whatever pain and panic Maya had been feeling was replaced by a relief so very evident upon her face.

But that, too, didn’t last long because Maya pulled the vial out of the canister and held it out for Ontari to take before she tucked the canister into one of her pockets. Something clicked though, and Clarke saw the change in the woman’s eyes, she saw the shifting in demeanour and the hardening of her resolve.

“I swore loyalty to you,” Maya said, and though her eyes seemed harder, her voice remained just as respectful as it had always been. “I have never given you any reason to doubt my actions,” and Clarke couldn’t deny that she was impressed with the woman’s determination, but only slightly, if only because she thought it would have been more impressive had Maya said all these things while her body began to burn.

“That is all true,” Clarke said into the silence that followed. “Tell me, Maya,” Clarke continued. “Do you think your people would welcome you back with open arms?” she paused to let Maya digest her question. “You live only because I live,” Clarke said. “You live only if the Mountain falls,” she gestured outwards in no particular direction. “And if I die? You will die.”

 

* * *

 

Though it was approaching midday the forest was dark and cool. The greatest of trees rose up into the sky overhead, the green canopy blocked out much of the blue sky and what little of the sun’s light stabbed down to the ground as if to guide Lexa forward.

Lexa half walked, half crept through the forest. Her fingers had grown numb from how tightly she held onto her rifle and she didn’t know if she even still walked in the right direction anymore.

The revelation of Mount Weather’s existence and her conversation with Carl had at times made her think she lived a dream, and at times made her bewildered or disbelieving or simply relieved. Not for the first time she berated herself for not even considering that humanity had managed to survive in underground fortresses. She even wondered if other people lived in what had become their own prison all over earth.

But Lexa’s thoughts never travelled far for she felt the familiar prickle on the back of her neck that had come and gone throughout the time she had spent on the ground. She paused by a moss covered tree and leant against it as she pretended to catch her breath, the effort not fully forced from her hours of walking. Lexa looked out around her and she tried to peer into the shadows that seemed to swallow the forest whole. She didn’t know if it was her mind playing games with her, she didn’t know if it was her paranoia or some an animalistic relic of the past that made her mind revert back to a state of concern fear. But the longer she looked at any given shadow, the more she swore she could see eyes staring back at her, watching, observing, stalking and waiting.

A twig snapping echoed out in the distance, the disturbance enough for Lexa to startle and to spin around and face the direction of the sound only to find a bird jumping from tree branch to tree branch somewhere just out of reach.

Lexa let out the breath she didn’t realise she had been holding, and she felt the spike of adrenaline begin to taper and ebb as she pushed off from the tree and rolled her shoulders in an attempt to soothe her fraying mind.

And so, with one last look around her, she began walking towards where she had seen the drop ship from the hill all the while wondering just how she was going to explain the existence of Mount Weather to the others.

 

* * *

 

The dungeons below Ton DC were a maze of circular tunnels wide enough to move hundreds of warriors to and fro without notice. Some tunnels’ walls were tiled, the colour a dirtied grey that would have once been glistening white. Metal tracks, rusted and wrought into place lined the ground underfoot and Clarke continued to step ever so lightly across the broken surfaces beneath her.

Some passageways remained permanently collapsed, the path they must have cut through the underground lost to history. But some had been mapped, had been categorised and secretly cleared just a few short years earlier.

Most of Clarke’s inner circle had thought it foolish to waste resources clearing the passageways, most had thought her mad. One had even tried to take her life for it. But now, as the pieces slowly continued to fall into place, Clarke knew it had been worth the political set backs, the assassination attempts and the pain she had suffered for years.

A distance flickering of light came into view. A torch held high above someone’s head danced in the barely noticeable breeze, it cast a great shadow across the tiled walls and ceiling and Clarke came to a stop, her hands held behind her back as she squared her shoulders.

Ontari stood beside her, the woman a little more at home in the chill of the tunnels from the way she seemed not to shift from foot to foot in discomfort. Gustus stood on the other side of Clarke, her guard’s great frame adding to the sense of foreboding Clarke knew many to feel in their journey through the tunnels.

The rest of her guard stood behind her, each one just as violent as the next, each one just as capable at detaching limb from limb or burying blade between ribs as she was in their own ways.

The flickering of the torch continued to come closer, and with each second the light began to bring into view figures moving forward, many still bathed in shadow. The footsteps that should have been heard were even swallowed by the dark of the shadows, the only sound to really give way to another’s presence being the quiet creak of leather against leather or fur against fur.

Before too long the light from the flame was close enough to reveal a mass of warriors that spilled down the tunnel far enough that Clarke could not see their end. Her father stood at the forefront of those before her, his face calm, the blue of his eyes piercing in the orange glow of the flames that set his muddied blonde hair aflame.

“Heda,” he said quietly as he bowed his head, the mass of warriors behind him quick to show their own respects as they came to a singular halt.

“You were not discovered?” Clarke didn’t really think she needed to ask, but she hadn’t gone to such great lengths over the years to grow complacent now.

“No, Heda,” Jake said.

“Good,” she nodded to him before turning to walk the way she had come.

Her father fell into step beside her as Ontari and Gustus and the rest of her guard settled amongst the mass of warriors. Clarke even heard the barely there acknowledgement Ontari sent to the Azgeda warriors she must have recognised and she heard the slightest of greetings Gustus gave to the Trikru that he knew.

“Do your warriors need food?” Clarke asked, voice low and gentle in the dark.

“No, Heda,” Jake answered. “We have eaten recently.”

“I will have food brought down on your request then.”

And with that they fell into quiet silence as they continued to walk back through the tunnels and to Ton DC.

 

* * *

 

“So let me get this straight,” Bellamy said from where he stood by a large camp fire. “There’s people already living in Mount Weather, those monsters we stumbled across are called reapers and that fog is a natural phenomenon?”

“I—” Lexa thought back to what she had remembered Carl said. “I guess?” and she looked around at the volunteers gathered the fire. “Yes there are people living in Mount Weather. They’re here to help. Those monsters are called reapers and they’re sick from radiation, it’s done something to them, driven them mad.”

“You could say that again,” someone said to murmurs of agreement.

“I don’t know how or why the acid fog became a thing, but we’ll get answers.”

“So now what?” Monty asked from where he stood beside Harper and Raven.

“Now we wait,” Lexa said and she let her voice carry over the whispers already beginning to filter through the volunteers. “Carl said he needs two days before he can make contact. Until then we need to keep doing what we’re doing.”

“What about the Ark?”

Lexa looked for who had asked the question but gave up as other voices began voicing their own questions.

“What about the plan?”

“Is there enough space for all of us in Mount Wea—”

“Are the reapers coming ba—”

“What do we do about the aci—”

“ _Enough!_ ” Lexa let her voice cut into the spiralling noise as she stared down the closest person who looked like they were going to speak. “I don’t have all the answers,” Lexa said, her gaze drilling into a woman who seemed ready to voice an opinion. “What I do know is that we all volunteered for this mission,” she jabbed a finger at one person and then another. “We can’t start panicking. That’s the opposite of what we should be doing,” Lexa began to turn in a slow circle as she looked from face to face that stood around her. “What we _can_ do is continue to gather supplies. Continue to make contact with the Ark when possible. And continue to look out for danger,” and she swept her hands out into the forests that surrounded them. “The only thing that’s changed is now we know what’s out there. Now we know that reapers are a danger and that the acid fog is a possibility.”

“We still have a job to do,” Bellamy added carefully, his tone clear to her that he was anticipating reprimand for adding his voice to the discussion.

“Bellamy’s right,” Lexa said as she smiled at him briefly. “We knew this wasn’t going to be easy,” she smiled a little more openly as she saw some close to her nod in agreement. “We knew there would be challenges. But we’ve been given a chance. A real chance. People have survived on the ground. That means we can survive on the ground.”

Lexa saw Monty nod his head, she saw Raven smile and she saw Harper give her a subtle thumbs up.

“Everyone assigned to finding edible foods still need to be doing their job,” Lexa continued. “Everyone assigned to finding animals we can hunt still needs to be doing their job. All our mechanics and engineers need to be fixing and setting up everything they can to make our lives easier. We just need to be on the look out for danger. But we know what that danger is now, we can anticipate it. We can prepare for it.”

As Lexa continued to turn in a slow circle, as she continued to press their need to remain focused and not to either panic or celebrate the recent revelations, she saw the scepticism beginning to dissipate and be replaced by a confidence and determination. And though her words were full of bravado and confidence, she knew their task not to be easy, perhaps it had become even more dangerous, if only because she had done the maths, she had done the calculations, however rough in her mind.

If Mount Weather had survived in any way small way that resembled how the Ark had survived, the balance of supplies was closely monitored. And Lexa was sure the arrival of thousands more people would throw each system completely out of sync.

But she wouldn’t mention that.

Not yet.

 

* * *

 

It was late afternoon and Lexa sat by another small fire someone had lit earlier. The campsite around the drop ship had been busier than it had been days earlier. There was an energy that flowed from person to person since the revelation, and that energy had spurred on their actions.

Lexa wouldn’t and couldn’t complain at that, but perhaps secretly she could regret the turn of events. If only because she had somehow seemingly become the de facto leader of all one hundred volunteers. People had been coming to her with questions, uncertainties of what best to do. Some other team leaders had even come to her to ask permission to leave for their routine patrols, albeit more heavily armed now that they knew the reapers existed.

Lexa had taken everything in stride though. Partly because she had been responsible for people on the Ark, too. Perhaps that was why she had volunteered — to help calm the panic she had known could erupt and to ensure the volunteers had a steady hand to guide them. She also knew that if things went south that she would be blamed, but she was no stranger to that, either. And so, as another person came to her with a question Lexa took it in stride.

“I thought we lost you,” Bellamy said quietly as he came to sit beside her, the man’s gaze a little guarded as he took in what she assumed to be the singed tips of her hair. “We all thought we lost you,” and he gestured to Monty, Harper and Raven who sat nearby, their team in the midst of a break.

“Same,” Lexa said with a lopsided smile.

“So they’ve been living underground for a hundred years?” Raven asked a pulled apart radio in her hands.

“I think so,” Lexa said.

“Why haven’t they settled above ground?” this time it was Harper’s turn to voice a question, the woman clearly intrigued.

“It’s something about the radiation,” Lexa said as she recalled the syringe Carl had injected himself with.

“The radiation that turned those things into reapers?” Harper asked.

“Yeah,” and Lexa found herself wondering why she and all the others weren’t affected. “The people in Mount Weather have some kind of injection that helps counteract the radiation.”

“I see,” and Lexa turned to Raven to find the woman looking up into the purpling sky in thought. “When we’re up there,” she said. “We’re exposed to higher dosses of radiation compared to on the ground,” and she shrugged. “I can’t spacewalk over a certain number of hours a year before I get exposed to too much.”

“That makes sense,” Bellamy added with an uncertain smile.

“What do you think, Monty?” Harper asked and Lexa found the woman looking at Monty with a small smile on her lips.

“It all makes sense, I guess?” Monty said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“You guess?” Lexa asked, perhaps now a little more intrigued by Monty’s until now guarded opinion.

“Why didn’t they make contact sooner?” Monty asked. “We’ve been here days. They could have helped us, made things easier for everyone.”

“Maybe they didn’t trust us, Monty,” Harper said as she nudged his shoulder with her own. “Would you trust some random people who fell from the sky if you were in their shoes?”

“I just—” he trailed off and sighed before running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Do you think they have showers?”

Lexa chuckled quietly at that as she turned her attention to the small piece of overly burnt root that had been roasted over the fire. She didn’t blame Monty for being cautious though, even she tried not to get her hopes up, if only because she didn’t know what she’d do if things turned out for the worse.

That same prickling on the back of her neck made her turn outwards and to the trees that dotted the campsite, whose presence had been pushed back by the hastily erected walls of sharpened branches and large containers set around the camp’s edges.

For yet another countless time that day Lexa wondered if she was going crazy or if she was actually sensing the presence of something in the shadows. But before too long the presence seemed to fade and Lexa was left wondering if she had simply imagined it in the first place.

 

* * *

 

Clarke sat in the shadows as she slowly danced a knife between her fingers. The warriors who had arrived earlier in the day remained deep underground and out of sight of the Mountain until they were called. It left a sour and bitter taste upon her tongue at the fact that Clarke was using the other warriors she would soon call upon as bait for the Mountain. She had even wondered how far it would strain her allegiance with Nia if the Azgeda warriors, who were much easier to spot in the forests, were taken out by a single act of violence by the Mountain. But it was a calculation she knew was necessary.

And so Clarke would ensure all warriors were as concealed as possible, and she would pray that the Mountain didn’t uncover their presence before it was too late. But if the Mountain was to discover the build up of warriors, then those underground would be her contingency.

Around her were others closest to her. Ontari, ever present by her side, Gustus by the door and Maya in the shadows. Her father sat opposite her, a table with a map between them and Costia and Indra by his side.

Clarke watched as her father studied the map. She watched as his gaze moved from model to model across the surface that indicated warrior movements and presences. She even saw his eyes narrow just a fraction as he took in the Azgeda movements and their placement closest to the Mountain, and she knew he must have realised her plan and understood the gamble she was playing with their lives. But she saw him dismiss whatever thoughts had filled his mind as he directed his attention to the markings of the recent reaper sightings, and to the places where acid fog had been spotted.

“You are sure?” Jake asked then, and Clarke found her gaze moving to Indra to see what the village chief’s reaction would be.

“Yes, Jake,” Costia answered with no less conviction than when she had given the report and Clarke saw Indra’s lips twitch ever so slightly in approval.

Clarke preferred letting those whose opinions she valued carry discussion if they pleased. It gave her time to consider her own thoughts, to take in different courses of action and to consider things she would not normally consider if she were to take charge too early. And so she remained quiet as Jake reached out and took hold of a small wooden model of what had held the people of the sky.

It had been skilfully whittled by a sharp knife and a sure hand, and Clarke was under no impressions that the model’s shape and detail had been exaggerated. She knew Trikru scouts were never one to take liberties in what they saw, and she was sure Indra’s scouts to be ever more ruthlessly loyal to the truth that their eyes could see.

“We should kill them before they join the Mountain’s forces,” Ontari said into the silence, the woman’s voice just barely lilting between controlled annoyance and eager anticipation.

“I do not believe they knew of the Mountain before they arrived,” Costia countered.

“That does not matter,” Ontari said. “You tell us they have made contact. You tell us they are preparing to bring more reinforcements from the sky. You tell us they plan to regroup in two days time. What more evidence do you need that their goals are allied?”

“If we are to attack it must be with as few warriors as possible,” Jake said, his voice kind despite the iron in his eyes as he looked up from the map to Ontari. “If we send too few warriors then it could end in defeat. If we send too many the Mountain will know we plan their defeat.”

Ontari paused for a moment in thought, “I agree,” she said eventually. “I will lead warriors in a night raid,” and she nodded to herself. “We will have the element of surprise. Our numbers will be harder to discern and we will destroy everything.”

“That would be the best course of action if we are to attack,” Indra said, the woman’s voice steady and quiet.

“I do not advise it, Heda,” Gustus said simply, the man’s gaze looking at the map. “The Mountain would seek retribution and attack. There would be a chance that our forces in the tunnels are discovered.”

Clarke let her gaze move to Gustus for a moment before she looked back to her father to find him meeting her gaze with guarded thought. All she had heard had merit, some perhaps more than others. But Clarke’s gaze moved to Maya who had kept quiet during the whole conversation.

“Maya,” Clarke said, her voice sharp as it broke the silence.

“Heda?” Maya answered.

“What do you think your people will do with these newcomers from the sky?”

Maya looked to the map upon the table and Clarke watched as thoughts shifted behind the woman’s eyes, and at times Clarke saw flashes of worry, she saw flashes of anger, of regret and any number of other emotions she didn’t blame the woman for feeling.

But when Maya looked back at her, Clarke saw nothing but conviction and belief.

“They will use these new people just as they use yours.”

Clarke nodded her head, the answer as simple as she had expected, the course of action already forming within her mind as the things that were said began settling into place.

“Costia,” Clarke said and she stood, her need to set up a camp away from Ton DC already becoming clear in her mind. “You say there is a woman who leads these people?”

“Yes, Heda,” Costia answered. “I have watched her. She leads a scouting party when they go beyond their camp. Others look to her for guidance and direction.”

“You will be part of Ontari’s raid,” Clarke said, Ontari’s vicious grin catching her sight from the corner of her eye. “Cause whatever distraction you must but—” Clarke turned to face Ontari, gaze hard, “do not kill anyone unless you must,” Clarke would laugh at another time as Ontari’s face fell with disappointment. “Attack at dawn when their guard is lowest. Capture this leader and bring her to me.”


	8. Chapter 8

Stardust sparkled in the sunlight that crested over the curve of the Earth. Anya stood at the single window in her quarters as she looked down onto the Earth far below. Clouds danced ever so slowly in the see of dark. Fires burned upon the land far to the west, their glow enough to cut through the dark and to dance with a brilliance that drew both wonder and fear within her heart.

Her thoughts raged through her mind and she couldn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t even begin to organise the chaos into order. Lexa had radioed and the words she had said were mind numbing, they were a bittersweet realisation and something Anya could never fathom.

People had lived on the Earth since the bombs fell, they had suffered, adapted and survived the ravaged lands, the turmoil and the uncertainties. Anya thought of all the lost time, all the people who had lived their entire lives in space looking down upon what they had believed to be an uninhabited world. She thought of all those people who lived down in Mount Weather, who perhaps had looked up into the stars only to long for an escape, for a chance to rebuild, to reconnect with a past that was long since gone.

But Anya also thought of the monsters, _reapers,_ the mutated beasts that had once ben man, woman and child, but were now nothing more than radiation sickened shadows of what they once were. And that made Anya shiver, that made her grimace and wish so very deeply that they had realised sooner. If only because she was sure they could have helped.

It was too late now, too late for those who had succumbed to the radiation, too late for those that had been floated, who had lived and died in space, and it was too late to regret. And so Anya let her uncertainties keep control for only a short second longer before she smothered them, forced them back into the recesses of her mind and lock them so many walls that she would never question her actions again.

Anya took in a deep breath, she held it for a while as her mind settled and then she stepped back from the window and turned to the centre of her quarters. Everything not bolted to the metal plating underfoot was packed into crates, and each one of them was strapped down, tied to anything immobile. All her personal belongings were organised into a single small crate, Lexa’s she had packed into their own, too.

They wouldn’t be heading down immediately, there were still countless things that needed to be organised before the Ark could be sent hurtling to the Earth, but Anya thought it prudent to be more than certain that all her things were in order, if only because she knew they only had one chance at success.

And so, as she pulled on her jacket and headed to the door, she found herself smiling as she wondered what it must be to feel the sun upon her face.

 

* * *

 

The Ark was a bustle with people who moved about with renewed vigour and enthusiasm. Word of the survivors in Mount Weather had spread so fast that rumours had began to form, theories and hopes all before anything concrete could really be known.

But there was a plan, there was a course of action that was to be done and Anya knew she would do all she could to ensure her people would make it to the ground in one piece.

She passed a man, arms full of supplies as he ran by, she passed two women, both in hurried conversation as one of them tapped away at the glowing tablet in her hands. Anya passed person after person as she continued down the long halls of the Ark but she tried to ignore the words, the whispers and the prayers simply because she didn’t want to get too far ahead of herself.

In the back of her mind she couldn’t help but to wonder how things would work out with such an increase in people. Part of her didn’t think it would be too bad though, for there was room enough on the Earth’s surface for her people to make a home for themselves without encroaching on those living in Mount Weather. She knew enough to know that Mount Weather would be existing on a razor’s edge, where one bad day, one miscalculated resource could snowball into something that could throw the entire civilisation out of order.

And wasn’t that what had happened on the Ark? Wasn’t that why Lexa in all her foolish confidence had volunteered to be sent down?

Anya would need to ensure her people offered something for those in Mount Weather, she’d need to ensure her people could show them that they wouldn’t be a drain on their resources. She knew her people wouldn’t survive long without guidance and help, not when bands of those terrible reapers roamed the lands, not when the acid fog seemed to eat everything it touched, and not when even the gravity of the Ark seemed too light compared to Earth’s gravity.

There were so many things, so many uncertainties, so many unknowns that would need to learnt sooner than later, and part of her hated that it all depended on the goodwill of people she hardly knew.

But perhaps the only saving grace, the only ace up her people’s sleeve, was the simple fact that they could seemingly survive on the Earth’s surface when those in Mount Weather couldn’t.

And that, she thought, she hoped and she prayed, was enough to make her people useful for those trapped beneath the ground.

 

* * *

 

It was well into the night. What little of the sky that could be seen through the trees was pitch black with barely a star to be seen. Despite her own insistence that everyone move in pairs when venturing past their camp’s hastily erected walls, and despite the very real danger, there were some things Lexa absolutely refused to do in the company of answers. And so she stood, steadied herself against the tree and pulled her pants up and cast one last furtive glance around.

She held a rifle in her hands, the weapon at times feeling more like a lucky charm than tool. Thankfully there had been no other confirmed sightings of reapers. A scouting party had reported seeing a pair or two, but many had assumed the sighting to be nothing more than a wild animal glimpsed through the thick foliage of the forest, but still, it never hurt to be too careful. But perhaps Lexa was a hypocrite in that aspect.

The walk back to the camp was quiet, not far, and well within shouting distance should she actually run into any danger. Earth’s gravity had seemed to settle for her in recent days though, the extra weight barely noticeable except for the ache in her muscles that had slowly lessened with each passing day and though her thoughts remained scrambled with uncertainties, she hoped her tired body would force her mind to sleep, if only so that she could remain sharp come Carl’s arrival in the morning.

And so Lexa sighed, she looked out into the forest and tried to shake that seemingly ever constant feeling that she was being watched, and she resigned herself to the fate that perhaps that feeling would never go away.

 

* * *

 

Though Lexa’s body was tired her mind seemed unable to rest. Her body’s fatigue had clearly decided not to wrestle her mind into submission and so she had found herself considering every single possibility that could unfold but still, she didn’t know which one she thought best for her people. She had considered what could happen if Mount Weather was unable to provide for all those living in the Ark. She had considered what it would take to set up a permanent camp in the open, close enough to Mount Weather for either group to help the other. She had even wondered what would happen if those reapers or the acid fog swallowed them whole, if either of those nightmares decided tho end them once and for all.

She even considered the possibility that their two peoples had grown apart in the hundred years since Earth had been ravaged. What would happen? What _could_ happen? She didn’t know.

Though no chatter could be heard, and hardly a footstep broke the silence of the night, she thought many in the camp thinking the exact same thing for there were telltale sounds that people couldn’t sleep. At times she heard a cough, a deep sigh or even the sounds of someone rolling over restlessly as they waited for the morning. She didn’t blame anyone though, not when every single fear and concern that had been raised to her was something she had considered herself.

But Lexa was tired, she was exhausted, even her mind seemed to be growing slower and slower with each passing moment and so she found her breaths subconsciously evening out, she found them deepening, and before too long she found herself drifting off to what she knew would be an unsettled sleep aided by the sounds of metal slowly clicking against metal in the distance.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s eyes snapped open, her body startled and she found a blackness engulfing her vision. She blinked once, twice, three times before her vision began to adjust to the pale grey of a too cold and too early morning.

It was cold despite what she thought to be the flickering of a fire that she could see through the fabric of her tent. No one else really seemed to be awake though for there were no voices she could hear. Thoughts of retreating back to sleep crossed her mind, but the responsible part of Lexa told her she should sit, should wake and not fall back to sleep.

She took in a steadying breath as her vision settled onto the dancing shadow of something overhead that she could just make out through the tent’s fabric. But before too long she found herself more aware of her surroundings and so she sat up and let the makeshift covers fall to her waist as she stretched and groaned.

A yawn escaped past Lexa’s lips and her eyes followed the shadow of someone moving past her tent, their footsteps purposefully silent and their body hunched over low, and Lexa couldn’t help but to smile at whoever it was that walked past in the clear attempt to not wake any others in the early morning.

Lexa rose to her feet, her back stooped so that her head didn’t hit the top of her tent and she began to dress for the day. Getting ready in the morning was a chore, it was a routine that had come painfully in the few days they had spent on the ground and it had taken her only a few days before she came to miss the creature comforts she had taken for granted on the Ark. Perhaps the one thing she looked forward to the most was bathing. Or at least bathing properly, if only because she thought pouring freezing water out of buckets and over her body to be quite unsatisfactory. But she knew the freezing sting of water to be much more preferable than braving the river and the beast that had attacked earlier.

And so Lexa found herself dressed, a dirty yet thick and welcomed dark grey jacket the single thing to really keep the cold at bay. Lexa reached for her backpack and her rifle as she pulled back the flap to her tent and stepped outside.

The first thing Lexa saw was that the day was perhaps much earlier than she had anticipated. The sky was still more black than light grey and even stars still sparkled in the sky overhead. But the one thing that really jumped out to her was that the light she had assumed was from an early rising sun was in fact from a fire that at first seemed just to be a large bonfire she assumed organised by a too cold guard.

But then her eyes widened, her mouth slackened and she cursed.

As if she was still asleep, or as if in slow motion her mind began to piece things together. That bonfire, that welcomed light and cherished heat was in fact a burning tent. Flames licked at the material, it blackened fabric and metal and plastics and then Lexa heard the roar. Wind seemed to pick up at that very moment and set the flame free. The roar of the flame being fuelled by the wind reached her ears, the light almost dazzled her eyes as the flames grew and grew and grew in size and then she heard it.

Someone must have smelt the burning, someone must have come to investigate the light and someone must have yelled, screamed, shouted a warning that broke the silence.

All hell broke loose, people just moments ago asleep bound out of their tents, some half dressed, some fully and others so very underdressed that at any other time it would be comical.

And then Lexa moved.

Fires had always been dealt with as swiftly and as seriously as possible on the Ark for a single fire could have had the most extreme of consequences.

And so Lexa’s voice joined with the cries, the shouts of warning and the orders being yelled by those already aware of the problem and by those already moving to act. People began running back and forth. People began running to their makeshift showers and their closest source of water. People began running towards the burning tent in the hopes of saving anyone who might have been trapped.

And Lexa moved, she ran, she didn’t quite know what she was doing but she shouted out something at Raven who ran the opposite way, the woman’s shirt inside-out and decidedly back to front. Lexa barked out something at Monty who ran by with Harper, and she shouted at Bellamy who she saw running out of the drop-ship, hits pants half pulled up and his hair sleep tussled.

And Lexa ran. Another team leader shouted out a team count at her, and she could at least be satisfied knowing that Gamma’s team were all accounted for, and as she ducked under drying clothes she saw Epsilon’s team organising themselves and counting off as they carried bucket of water after bucket of water to the raging tent in the hopes they could kill the fire before it spread to any other tents.

And then Lexa darted past one last tent and she skidded to a halt at the buckets of mud and sand and soil that had been collected to study their suitability for farming. She’d apologise to Monty after the fire was dealt with and so Lexa reached down, hefted the closest bucket of soil that she thought suitable for putting out fire and she turned.

But Lexa’s blood froze, her heart slammed in her chest and for the second time her eyes widened and her lips slackened.

Of all the things Lexa could have seen, from a naked couple caught mid act, to a reaper or even a mutated animal, what now stood before Lexa was chilling and very much none of those things.

Lexa couldn’t comprehend, she couldn’t understand, she couldn’t even believe.

A woman stood before her. She was young and her face still held the barest hints of youth. Upon her face were scars, brutal scars, deep scars that had etched themselves across her skin, that had brutalised her face and made her seem unreal, unknown, foreign and unfamiliar.

Wild braids of dark brown hair cascaded down past her shoulders, metal ornaments were tied through her locks that seemed part ceremonial and part weapon. But as Lexa looked harder, as she looked closer, she realised those ornaments, those trinkets were in fact bone, bleached white and sharpened.

The woman wore clothes that were fur, parts of it so glitteringly white that they almost blinded, and others muted greys, deep blacks and almost browns. And then Lexa’s eyes landed on the sword held in her hand, whose edge was so clearly sharpened enough to slice through anything that stood before it that Lexa knew the weapon to be capable of dealing incredible amounts of dama—

And the woman lunged.

Lexa yelped, she dropped the bucket in her hands and she didn’t even have enough time to lift her rifle before the wind was knocked from her lungs as she was kicked in the chest and thrown back with enough force that even before she hit the ground she saw stars.

Lexa crashed against the buckets of soil and mud and sand, she hit her head against something sharp and pain exploded across her skull as she tumbled, spilled and crashed to the ground.

The woman was on her faster than Lexa could even think of how to react, a hand reached up and clamped over her mouth and she felt the pressed of the sword against her ribs.

And the next thing Lexa knew was that the woman settled over her chest, face so very close to hers as her lips parted in a smile to reveal teeth so white they seemed to glow in the dark.

“Do not make a sound,” the woman hissed, her voice soft, higher pitched than she would have expected but there was no kindness in her words, no humour, no mirth, and if Lexa’s mind hadn’t been so whiplashed she would have realised the woman spoke english, the woman seemed fully capable of understanding and threatening and of using the sword in her hands.

But despite the fact that her brain didn’t quite know how to act in the moment, despite the fact that her body had seemed to lose all function, Lexa wouldn’t go give up without a fight.

And so, perhaps subconsciously, Lexa began to struggle, she began to wrestle out from under the woman. Lexa managed to slam her head forward enough that the woman needed to lean back lest their faces connect and that was all Lexa needed. She scrambled, bucked and managed to plant one foot onto the ground with enough stability to leverage herself to the side and throw the woman aside.

Lexa scrambled then, and it was a mess of hands, of feet and limbs and furs and any number of other things that did nothing but get in her way. As Lexa came to her feet, as she turned to face the woman and prepared to yell she saw a shadow fall onto the forest floor before her.

Lexa’s eyes widened when she saw another woman, this one with darker complexion and hair so curly and tied back it seemed as wild as the beasts and reapers that roamed the lands. This woman’s face was void of scars and instead Lexa was sure she could spy the hints of a tattoo that snaked up the woman’s neck.

But Lexa didn’t have much time to think for her legs were kicked out from under her and she crashed to the ground with a thud.

“Bring her,” the first woman hissed and Lexa grimaced as she felt strong hands grab her by the back of the neck as something thick, salty and coarse was thrust past her lips.

It took her a second to realise a gag had been forced into her mouth, and it took her another second to realise her arms were already being tied behind her back before her brain managed to catch up to the events that were happening.

There were so many realisations flooding Lexa’s mind at that very moment that she didn’t even register the fact that she had been lifted to her feet and was being marched away. But the one thing that broke her confusion, the one thing that snapped her out of whatever dumbfounded stupor she found herself in was the distinct sound of someone saying _what the fuck._

Lexa was turned to the direction of the voice by the woman who had first attacked her and her gaze fell to Bellamy who stood with an empty bucket in one hand, and a soaking wet towel in the other.

Bellamy’s eyes were wide, his lips slackened and Lexa hoped more than she should given the circumstances, that she hadn’t looked just as stupid as Bellamy did in that moment.

Bellamy actually dropped the empty bucket in his hands and seemed to pinch the skin on his wrist in an attempt to wake himself from whatever dumb dream he seemed to believe himself in.

But the moment’s calm was ended as abruptly as could be imagined.

The woman shoved Lexa back and she fought for balance before the second woman’s hands gripped her tightly. Lexa’s gaze tracked the woman’s movements as she darted forward, as she lunged and slammed into Bellamy and took out his legs with a thunderously loud kick to the thighs that flung his legs out from under him. Bellamy gasped in pain as he crashed to the ground only to be kicked in the ribs with yet another sickening thump.

Bellamy wheezed, he gasped, he spluttered as his hands came to cradle his ribs. Lexa tried struggling then, she tried fighting back, she tried doing something for that same woman levelled her sword at the now hapless Bellamy, the weapon’s point glinting in what little light there was in the too early morning.

Lexa tried yelling for help, she tried doing something to make more noise but the gag in her mouth muffled it enough that whatever sounds she was able to make couldn’t be heard over the shouts from those fighting the fire.

“Stop,” the woman who held her back said quietly, but her voice was sharp and clear as she pulled Lexa back and towards the shadows of the forest.

“He has seen us,” the first woman said as she kicked Bellamy onto his back and placed the edge of her sword against his throat as his hands came up in what was somewhere between helpless and pathetic surrender.

“No one is to die if we can avoid it,” the second woman said as she continued pulling Lexa back with more strength than what Lexa would have ever guessed such a slight woman capable of possessing. “Bring him.”

And so the first woman turned back to Bellamy, sheathed her sword and then punched him hard across the face, the blow hard enough to knock him unconscious.

 

* * *

 

Lexa was afraid. She was petrified, uncertain and completely out of her depth. Lexa still couldn’t grasp the fact that there were a third people on the ground. She couldn’t quite understand why and how and what was going on. All she knew was that she had been taken prisoner, that Bellamy in all his foolish bravado had somehow managed to rope himself into whatever situation she found herself in, and that whoever marched her through the forests was more than capable of removing her head from her body without much worry.

The fact that they seemed capable of speaking English wasn’t lost on her, nor was the fact that at times they switched into some unknown language that sounded almost familiar if she listened hard enough.

One of the women pulled hard on the rope holding her wrists tied behind her back and Lexa grimaced at the strain in her muscles but the next sounds that followed weren’t a surprise to her. Bellamy seemed to grunt, exert himself and clearly try to attack blindly, or do something foolish. And for yet another time Lexa heard him wince, groan and stumble to the ground as the first woman laughed and said something Lexa was sure was colourful in insult.

But Lexa couldn’t do much more than resign herself to the fact that she would have to listen to whatever beatings Bellamy brought upon himself with each moment’s resistance.

Despite everything though, Lexa found herself worrying for the rest of the volunteers who had been fighting the fire, to those who must have been taken by surprise and she hoped that no one had been injured and that no one had been trapped by the raging heat.

Part of her began to realise that the fire was deliberate though, and as that thought began to settle into her mind she realised that her capture was deliberate, too, and not just that she was the easiest target out of many.

She began thinking back to all those times she had felt as though someone was watching her, she began to think back to all the times she had felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and she even realised that the attack and her capture had occurred right before she was to meet with Carl and whoever else from Mount Weather would have braved the trip.

There were too many questions though, too many unknowns, too many things she couldn’t comprehend, and too many things for her tired mind to organise.

Lexa stumbled, she tripped and she didn’t know if it was her mind’s turmoil, if it was the fact she couldn’t see, or if it was the fact that her body ached so terribly, that caused her to fall. But fall she did and she groaned, grimaced and fell to her knees only to be lifted to her feet roughly and with little care.

And so Lexa found herself fighting the hopeless feeling swelling in the pit of her stomach at the realisation that her people were so very far out of their depth on Earth’s surface.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s feet ached, her legs felt heavy, her arms liquid and weak. Sweat dripped from her brow and she cursed as she tripped over something she couldn’t see, as she stumbled and tried to find her feet.

“Get up.”

The woman’s voice came from somewhere behind her and she felt the press of that same knife edge between her shoulder blades and she recognised the threat for what it was. Bellamy must have stumbled beside her too, for she heard him groan, she heard him curse and splutter past the gag forced into his mouth.

“Move.”

Again the woman behind pushed her forward with the knife, and not for the first time Lexa resented the fact that she couldn’t see where she walked.

“Stop.”

The woman pulled her back with a sharp tug of the rope binding her hands behind her back.

“Try it,” and this time Lexa was sure the woman spoke to Bellamy. “I would enjoy beating you again,” and Lexa couldn’t help but to recoil from the lightness in the woman’s voice, in the pleasure she seemed to get from causing pain, from inflicting wounds and suffering.

But Bellamy must have submitted, must have backed down from whatever foolish endeavour he had thought of for she heard a chuckle, a laugh, something light, something disappointed.

“Perhaps next time.”

Fabrics, furs and leathers rustled in front of Lexa, and from the sound, from the breeze of air she felt across her cheeks, she thought they must have arrived at their final destination.

“Ontari,” a new voice said, this one male, deep, more rumbled growl than spoken word.

“Gustus,” the woman behind her answered.

“These are the prisoners?”

“Yes.”

“Heda is waiting.”

Lexa didn’t quite know who or what Heda was, all she knew was that they were important and that her heart began to beat more furiously in her chest, that her palms were sweating and that her skin felt clammy. She was sure that now, as she was ushered into what she thought to be a tent, that she had chosen wrong, that she had made the wrong decision, had done nothing but bring her death closer than it had been just days earlier. But Lexa stamped down those fears as quickly as they formed, if only because there was no turning back.

And so she squared her shoulders, ironed her resolve and promised herself not to regret whatever was to come next.

There was commotion though, something quick, rough and violent. Bellamy grunted and gasped out behind her, she heard the distinct _thunk_ of something hard hitting flesh and then she felt Bellamy fall to the ground beside her as that woman — Ontari — laughed.

“Enough.”

Another woman’s voice cut into whatever commotion echoed out around her, it seemed to silence the noise, the wind, the rustle of air and cloth and weapon and armour. Lexa felt herself pushed forward again, she felt Bellamy’s presence beside her and then a hand gripped her shoulder, squeezed and Lexa fell to the ground with a grunt of pain as her legs were kicked out from underneath.

“Heda,” Ontari said, and Lexa heard deference in the woman’s voice, she heard supplication and submission.

“This is the one who leads them?” the voice asked, and it came quiet, careful, slightly deeper than expected, terribly rich with a rasp and a careful timber that made Lexa’s skin crawl.

“This one is, Heda,” Ontari answered.

“And the man?” the question came out full of derision and Lexa felt Bellamy bristle, she felt him tense, and if she hadn’t been in such a perilous situation, if she didn’t think even making noise would end in her head being removed, she would try to tell him to calm down, to relax, to stop doing whatever it was that had caused him to be struck, pushed and hit.

“He refused to allow her to come alone,” Ontari answered. “Even after I _encouraged_ him to behave.”

“I see,” and the voice seemed to come out more intrigued. “Remove the blindfolds.”

And so Lexa found herself wondering what this woman — what _Heda —_ must have looked like. Lexa wondered if she was as tattooed and as scarred as all her warriors seemed to be, if she was old, young, or somewhere between.

But of all the things Lexa thought she would see, it wasn’t what greeted her.

The blindfold was pulled from her face with little care or worry for her comfort, and Lexa winced through the gag as her hair was pulled with the motion. Light from the many candles and flames she saw flickering about inside the tent blinded her, and she couldn’t help but to wonder if their presence and intensity was purposeful.

She saw a silhouette next, and it was something ferocious, something unfamiliar and all together terrifying.

As Lexa’s vision cleared she saw that a woman sat atop a chair, a throne of twisted wood, of spears and weapons that seemed to all bend and wind and twist together into a nest of crazed disorder. A coat of thick leathers and armoured plating draped her body. A red sash, colour as vibrant and dazzling as the sun swept down from her left shoulder and to her feet before it pooled upon the ground.

The woman’s hair was blonde, molten gold at times in the firelight. Her eyes were a piercing blue that was framed by black paint that writhed across her eyes, that dripped down her cheeks as if a shadow had sheared away her flesh.

But despite all those things, what stole Lexa’s breath the most, what made her recoil, made her flinch and gasp, was the distinct grey-paleness and lack of colour to her skin. Where one would expect to see the hints of red, of pink beneath proud cheeks, Lexa saw nothing but grey, and if she looked just a little harder she thought she could see the black of veins that etched their path under the woman’s skin. Even her lips were void of what could and should have been expected.

The woman leant forward in her throne and the grey of her lips parted just barely as she took in a deep breath to reveal teeth that almost seemed to glow in the candle light, and for only the briefest of moments Lexa was sure she spied the dark of her gums before her gaze snapped back to the woman’s eyes. The woman smiled then, but the expression seemed void of kindness, it seemed void of warmth, void of depth.

_Void of life._


	9. Chapter 9

Lexa’s mind slammed to a screeching halt as the vision before her settled into reality. Before Lexa sat something of a nightmare, whose flesh was as pale as the dead, whose eyes were as cold as the deepest colds and whose gaze pierced into her with such intensity that it sent a shiver into the very core of her body.

This woman, this person, this _thing,_ that sat in front of her wasn’t human, wasn’t real, wasn’t and couldn’t be alive. Lexa blinked once, twice, three times as if to shake the vision from her gaze. But no matter how many times she tried clearing her vision and no matter how many times she looked away and then back, the thing remained seated in the throne of twisted wood and sharpened weapon.

The thing’s gaze turned to Bellamy who was equally as fearfully stunned, and as their eyes turned to pierce into Bellamy, Lexa was sure she saw flashes of deep black webs that etched their way into the edges of its eyes, up the side of its neck and through its muscle, and as Lexa looked more and more closely she realised that what she saw were veins, and what must have been blood vessels in its eyes that made her stomach recoil and churn and twist.

“Take the man away,” the thing said, its voice full of a rasp that echoed out around them.

The larger man, the one who Lexa thought was called Gustus stepped forward and picked Bellamy up by the shoulders as if he were a child before pushing him back with a large hand, the motion enough to stagger Bellamy and to send him stumbling backwards in a futile attempt to right himself.

The thing’s eyes followed Bellamy and when Lexa felt his presence leave the tent its gaze snap back to her with that same piercing intensity. Lexa’s mouth was dry, it felt raw, and as she swallowed in an attempt to clear her throat she found herself grimacing and trying not to cough lest she break whatever tentative reprieve from what she knew to be her soon to come demise.

“Are you thirsty?” it asked, and the question surprised her, it made her eyes widen and she couldn’t understand, she couldn’t make sense of the things she saw and heard. “Ontari,” it said, her head inclined towards the scar faced woman.

And so Lexa’s eyes snapped to the woman who had attacked her, who had snuck into her camp and kidnapped her and she recoiled as Ontari’s lips parted into the most feral of smiles. But Ontari merely stepped forward, pulled out what Lexa assumed to be a flask hidden somewhere in her thick furs and forced it upon her.

One of Ontari’s hands snatched out and ripped the gag from her mouth before it gripped her by the jaw and tipped her head back as she squeezed. Lexa grimaced, she tried to pull her head away only to find Ontari’s iron grip tightening as she forced her mouth open. Ontari pushed the flask to her lips and tipped its contents into her mouth, the motion rough and uncaring.

Lexa spluttered, she gasped, gagged and tried not to retch too painfully as a bitter tasting liquid burnt against her tongue. Part of it made Lexa want to spit it out, to not swallow it, to let it spill down her chin, but somehow, someway, she found that the liquid seemed to dull and ease the thumping in her heart, it seemed to quench the burning in her throat and she tried to lean into its soothing presence, if only because she knew her life depended on whatever she was to say next.

Ontari stepped back to leave Lexa gasping for breath and trying with little success to wipe her chin on her shoulder, the bitter tasting drink having dribbled down onto her jacket and shirt to leave a pathetic mess of sticky liquid drying against her skin.

But Lexa’s gaze moved back to the thing that sat in the throne and she realised its gaze had never wavered, it had never broken eye contact and it had taken in every little thing that it must have been seeing.

It shifted in its throne then, uncrossed its legs and seemed to unfurl as it reclined and made itself more comfortable. One lazy arm threw the red sash outwards as if to give it more space to breathe, the other hand lovingly stroked at the wooden arm of the throne it sat upon.

A single golden braid fell out of place as it tilted its head to the side as if to inquisitively inspect a trapped rodent beneath its foot, and as Lexa squirmed under its gaze she wished so very deeply that she could look away, that she could hide behind something more opaque than the air that separated them.

“Leave us, Ontari, Costia,” it said and Lexa peered at the two women who had captured her to see them bow their heads with clear deference before turning and silently leaving the tent.

The only other presence in the tent was felt rather than seen, and Lexa was sure it was the beast of a man called Gustus who she assumed stood somewhere behind her ready to strike should she try to attack. But Lexa had no intentions of doing that, if only because she could see more weapons upon the things body than she could count.

It stood then, and the motion was agonisingly slow. Each subtle movement it made was liquid, sensual and so very purposefully poised that Lexa wondered if it had rehearsed such movements. It came to stand, the flicking flames from a nearby candle casting its face in half shadow and sending its hair awash with molten light. But it began to approach, it began to close on her, it began to stalk forward with poised step after poised step until it came to tower over where Lexa found herself kneeling, her head tilted up to look at a face that was unreal, unnerving and unexplainable.

But then it knelt slowly and the only sound that came was the slightest creaking of leather or swish of fabric that gave way to its body. And then the thing came face to face with Lexa in the centre of the large tent.

They were close, so close that she could feel its breath as it brushed against her cheek, and even though Lexa wanted to look away, even though she wanted to close her eyes and fight back the fear that continued to creep into her mind, she couldn’t.

Lexa was captivated by the sight before her. She was captivated by the _woman,_ who knelt in front of her and studied her with open curiosity. Being this close to its face was unnerving. She could see the veins just barely under the skin. She didn’t know if they were more obvious because her flesh was grey. She didn’t know if they were obvious because her blood seemed to be black, and she didn’t know if the veins were obvious because she simply _looked_ for them. At first Lexa had even wondered for just a second whether what she saw was makeup or even paint of some kind. But now, as she was able to see the flesh in all its pale greyness, and now, as she was able to see the black blood vessels and the grey of her lips and gums, Lexa knew it was so very real _._

Whatever made this thing’s appearance so death-like, it made Lexa shiver, it made her flinch and shy away. A finger reached out then, and it was slender, it was delicate as it came to rest against her lips. But despite its appearance Lexa was under no mistake that the hand it was attached to would be more than capable of breaking her in two.

Lexa shivered at the prolonged touch and she tried not to do something too sudden, too obvious as to shy away, but still she tried to make space, she tried to make room and to put distance between her face and the finger that remained on her lips.

And she did so for the thing that looked at her was something so deathly, so pale, so empty of all the signs of life that she couldn’t help but to feel sick, to feel ill-put and unsettled.

And then?

All the things she knew, all the things she saw, everything Carl had told her came crashing to the forefront of her mind.

_And._

_It._

_Made._

_Sense._

Whatever this thing was, whatever it had become, was something so close to death, so close to _not_ living that it could only be described as one thing.

And that was a reaper. 

A reaper of life, a reaper of death, and a reaper of the living and a reaper of those foul beasts that roamed the Earth’s surface.

And Lexa understood the name now, she understood its connection to death, to life, to turning what was once human into foul beast and she knew what fate would await her, and she knew why Carl and his people called these things reapers. She knew why those other savages, Ontari, Costia, Gustus, listened to it, did its bidding and dared not to question. For who would question death itself? Who would dare to challen—

“Do I make you afraid?” the question cut through her thoughts and it surprised Lexa more than the barest hints of emotion she didn’t expect to see in the vibrantly blue eyes that looked at her. But Lexa didn’t need to answer to know the thing before her already knew her answer.

Lexa swallowed, and this time she was thankful for whatever drink Ontari had forced upon her, if only because it seemed to help her clear her throat without her succumbing to a coughing fit. She wet her lips and grimaced at the pain she felt as they cracked and seemed to taunt her very existence.

But then Lexa steeled her nerves, made sure her voice was as unwavering as it could be.

“I know what you are,” she said and it surprised her just how strong her voice remained.

Surprise flashed across the thing’s face, but perhaps Lexa should think of it as person, as _woman_ if only because she was very much so a woman, no matter how dead she looked and despite the very obvious fact that she wasn’t completely certain that it was actually human. However far fetched that may be.

“You know what I am?” the woman asked, and this time real curiosity coloured her tone as her eyes glanced over her shoulder and to where Gustus must have remained standing. “Tell me,” she said slowly. “What am I?”

“You’re a reaper,” Lexa whispered and she braced herself for whatever was to come next.

But of all the things Lexa expected, it wasn’t what she saw.

Disgust came first, it coloured the woman’s lips and twisted them into a snarl. Revulsion and a hatred followed, and those emotions contorted her cold features into something grotesque and full of fury. But as quickly as those emotions seared across her face they faded into insult before melting into something close to sadness. But before Lexa could really analyse whatever had just happened the woman snapped to her feet with a suddenness that made her startle and fall back in surprise.

“Bring her,” the woman snapped.

And with that Lexa felt herself lifted to her feet before being shoved around and led out of the tent with her thoughts scrambled and her mind so very confused.


	10. Chapter 10

The first thing Lexa realised as she was pushed out of the tent was that the sun had only just begun taking residence in the sky, what little of the sky above she could see was just barely a deep blue rather than pitch black. The second thing she realised was just how quiet it was. There was still birdsong that filtered in past the mighty moss covered trees, and even the rustling of the grand branches overhead could still be heard. And yet, somehow, someway, she felt the silence settling over her with an intensity that she found unfamiliar.

Lexa glanced over her shoulder to find much of her vision was taken up by the man called Gustus who stood beside her, one of his mighty hands still clamped onto her upper arm. But past him Lexa saw the reaper ducking out of the tent, her eyes ferocious and what could only be described as warpaint making her expression even more terrifying than before.

But as Lexa looked around for Bellamy she realised she couldn’t see him, she realised she couldn’t see the other two women who had captured her. What she did see were other less deformed reapers, not many, perhaps less than twenty. But each one was laden with weapons, some with swords, some with bows and arrows, some with spears or axes or something she had no name for yet she could understand was capable of taking life.

She tried looking for the further gone reapers, she tried finding a clue as to what would await her in the near future, but she saw none and she wondered if those grotesque beasts were more animal, more slave to the most primal of instincts that drove them forward.

“Where’s my friend?” Lexa asked, and though she didn’t exactly know why she spoke so quietly, she did.

“Not here,” the reaper said before she began walking away.

As the the reaper moved past she began rolling up her red sash into a small bundle before she pulled it free from where it had been attached to her armoured clothing. Another warrior stepped forward and took the sash in his arms before bowing his head and moving away.

The hand around her upper arm squeezed more tightly as she was pulled to a stop and Lexa fought the wince that almost escaped past her lips as she found herself pulled close to Gustus.

The reaper stopped a few paces away and seemed to take in the other warriors who now all stood and looked at her and as Lexa continued to watch she found a certain devotion that seemed to linger in their gazes, she seemed to see a deference in the way some stepped a little further away as if to give her space.

But what she saw seemed not to be a devotion due to fear of punishment, of death, but rather a devotion fuelled by something much more, something embraced, something cherished and willingly submitted to.

Movement caught her attention and Lexa turned to find the second of the women who had captured her, who she believed to be Costia, stepping out from the forests as she slung a bow across her shoulders and bowed her head to the reaper as she approached.

“The Mountain Men have rendezvoused with these Skaikru,” Costia said with something between a sneer and disgust.

“And Ontari?” the reaper asked.

“Taking the man to Ton DC, Heda,” Costia replied as she jerked her head somewhere outwards. “The man leaves a trail even a newborn could follow. I hid their tracks and returned. ”

“Good.”

There it was again, that same word, title, perhaps even name, that Lexa heard the reaper be called. Part of her didn’t quite like the fact that it seemed that Bellamy had been taken somewhere she knew not where. Part of her also didn’t like the fact that her people seemed to have been under watch since the very start. She also didn’t quite like the fact that these warriors or reapers, or whatever they were, seemed more than capable to attacking and killing and maiming at a moment’s notice. Even the name _skaikru_ made Lexa think, made her consider everything she had learnt, if only because she now considered the fact that the reapers must have a society, must have some kind of system in place.

But that revelation merely soured her opinion, if only because she now knew, if only through assumption, that the first reapers she had seen must have been their lapdogs, mindless beasts sent out as some form of shock troops, some form of first wave designed to terrify, to destroy and to kill.

“Should we attack their camp, Heda?” the warrior who had taken the red sash asked as he turned from the pack set on the ground he had stuffed the red sash into.

“No, Lincoln,” _Heda_ said as she took a moment to think. “Join Costia and track their movements. Do not be seen by them.”

And with that Lincoln and Costia both bowed their heads before beginning to move off into the depths of the forest.

“We return to Ton DC,” Heda said, and it wasn’t lost on Lexa that her voice was quiet and carried just barely far enough for those around her to hear. “Ryder,” and she turned to another brute of a man with a tattoo across his face. “Take three and hide our tracks then destroy the reaper pack we saw earlier.”

“Yes Heda,” the man Lexa assumed to be called Ryder said as he unslung a bow from his shoulder and gestured for three other warriors who joined him as they stood aside from the main group.

But Lexa’s mind began to turn, Lexa’s thoughts became even more confused, frazzled and unsure of whatever it was that was happening for she couldn’t understand why they would want to attack the reapers. Perhaps the more beastly of reapers were prone to becoming rabid, perhaps they were hard to control, perhaps they were merely mercy killing them before their disease took too much of a toll on them. Or perhaps this Heda simply used them as tools whose purpose was singular before she destroyed them.

And with that Lexa felt the gag forced past her lips before she was pushed forward as the group of warriors led by Heda began to move.

 

* * *

 

The speed that they moved through the forests contrasted so starkly with how silent every single warrior was. Hardly a sound could be heard and hardly a rustle of a bush or a twig snapping underfoot broke the deadened forest.

Except for Lexa.

She grimaced and winced as she stepped on an unseen dry leaf that crunched and yet again led to a warrior, this one a red haired woman, glaring at her with such contempt that she was under no misconceptions that she’d rather kill her than deal with the noise Lexa made.

Lexa didn’t even know why she felt guilty about breaking the sound around them. Probably making enough sound for Carl and his men, or even her own people to hear, would give her at least some chance to escape. But still, she found herself at least unconsciously trying not to make a sou—

Lexa saw a twig underfoot just barely in time, she tried to sidestep, she tried to rebalance, and she tried to avoid. But she slipped, she grunted past the gag in her mouth and she face planted into the ground with a muffled yelp and curse.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Lexa’s hands weren’t tied together, and it wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t so tired. But both of those things afflicted her and so she knew, as her face hit a particularly wet piece of mud, that she would have to endure falling for more times than she would lik—

A shadow fell across her that she felt more than saw, and as she struggled up onto her knees she found Heda standing over her, the woman’s face somewhere between pity and disgust as she quite literally, and Lexa assumed also metaphorically, looked down upon her.

Lexa shrugged her shoulders as apologetically as she could given the circumstance, her eyes never wavering from Heda’s own piercing blue, and not for the first time she found herself shivering at the way the woman’s skin seemed to grow even more grey as she knelt down before her and into a shadow of a grand tree.

Heda reached out then, her hand grey, and for the first time, Lexa noticed covered in intricately small scars. Lexa grimaced and tried to move her face away as Heda’s cold left hand cupped the side of her face before scooping the mud off her skin before flinging it onto the ground with a hint of sarcasm-tinged pity, and then she wiped her hand on Lexa’s shoulder.

It took Lexa a second to register what the realisation that dawned upon her was, but as her mind returned to the way Heda had brushed a finger against her lips earlier, and from this now awkward cleaning of her face, Lexa found a realisation flooding her thoughts. And it was a realisation that this Heda seemed fascinated with her, seemed intrigued, seemed to be touching her as if she was a pet, a new found animal that was seen as no threat, but as something vulnerable, something to play with, something to keep as a _toy._

Lexa didn’t know what was worse. She didn’t know if it was better or worse that for some sick reason she was now a prisoner and a play thing and so very far out of her depth. And she didn’t know if it was better or worse that she wished she might not actually die within the next 24 hours.

“Gustus,” Heda said, her voice so very quiet as she continued to stay kneeling before her, grey hand still resting upon Lexa’s shoulder as her gaze never left hers. “Carry her.”

Lexa’s eyes widened, her mouth would have gaped if the gag didn’t make her jaw feel so very stiff, and she knew Heda saw the emotions flash across her face for her lips quirked up ever so slightly at the corners.

And with that Lexa found herself lifted up onto Gustus’ shoulders, she found the other warriors beginning to move once again, and she found a sharp piece of armour digging painfully into her hip as Gustus carried her as if she was nothing more than a disobeying child.

And, despite the severity of whatever situation Lexa was in, as embarrassment flooded her mind, Lexa knew that this was in fact worse than anything she had experienced so far.

 

* * *

 

Being carried over Gustus’ shoulder was very much uncomfortable. Being held so that her face was pressed against his lower back and her tied hands awkwardly squished between them was frustratingly restrictive. Lexa couldn’t move to make herself comfortable. Well, she had tried at first to wriggle, to give her bruising hip relief from whatever metal armour she had decided adorned the man’s shoulder. But Gustus must have assumed she had been trying to escape, trying to get away for he had squeezed her ankle hard, the grip as much warning as it was humiliating.

It even frustrated her that that same red haired warrior now walked behind her, the woman’s face smug as she looked at what must have been comical.

But what could Lexa do?

Not much, she found.

Before too long though, she found that the sun had taken its place in the sky and the dark of the night had slowly been replaced by an early morning. Splotches of the sky she could see appeared to shift from red to clearer blue as the sun continued to rise, and she couldn’t help but wonder how her people were doing, she couldn’t help but to worry for those she had left at the the mercy of the reapers. She hoped Carl and his people had managed to get them to safety, or to at least bring reinforcements.

They came to a stop suddenly though, and Lexa grimaced as Gustus unslung her from his shoulder and dropped her onto a surprisingly soft clump of moss that deadened her fall. Lexa glared up at the man who merely looked down at her before turning outwards, his attention directed the way they came, and Lexa realised he searched the forest lest they were followed.

Lexa struggled to her knees, hands awkwardly pushing her into a half sitting, half kneeling position as she tried to take measure of whatever situation she had now been put into.

They still remained in the depths of the forest, though it was now light enough that she could see further through the trees. But as Lexa looked from warrior to warrior that surrounded her, before her gaze landed on Heda, she realised they all looked outwards, hands on weapons and bodies tensed for something.

Lexa didn’t know what it was, she didn’t even hear, see, or feel anything nearby. But whatever it was that had given all these warriors pause, made her skin crawl. Part of Lexa wanted to ask what was happening, part of her wanted to at least have some idea of where and when she should run, but she wouldn’t ask. In part because she had a gag in her mouth, and in part because she was sure any one of these warriors would sooner slip a knife between her ribs than have her give way their position to whatever they thought was near.

But still the silence and the stillness lingered. Lexa looked as hard as she could at every little movement in the trees, every little flittering shadow and every little shaking bush. No matter how hard she searched, she couldn’t see, she couldn’t understand what it was that they waited for.

But as if on cue the barest thump of something in the distance broke the quiet around them. One of the warriors rose ever so slowly, his motions purposeful and elegant as he began to slink forward in the underbrush. Lexa watched as he flitted from shadow to shadow until he came to a moss covered rocky formation that jutted out from the ground.

The warrior seemed to look out around him once more before he pressed his ear to a point somewhere in the centre of the moss before he tapped ever so quietly.

To Lexa’s surprise the tap seemed to sound just barely hollow to her ears. But then her eyes widened as the warrior took a cautious step back as the rock began to move, as it began to shift. What had at first seemed like a rocky outcrop soon revealed itself to be a door hiding away a hole in the ground. Lexa continued to stare in wonder as someone appeared at the now revealed entrance, but her eyes simply narrowed as she recognised Ontari by the scars that glinted off her face, and by the white muddied furs she wore.

And then they moved.

As if as one, as if spurred forward by some unseen hand, almost every warrior began moving forward, their motions fast, their steps ever silent. Gustus half picked her up as he moved, her body almost tucked under his arm as he began to bound over the short distance to the entrance to the depths of whatever lay in wait.

Lexa didn’t protest, she didn’t try to make an effort to escape, if only because she knew it to be futile. But still, her heart began to race faster and faster as they approached the opening.

Fear spiked at the same time that Heda made it to the entrance before dipping inside. Other warriors followed, each one swallowed by the opening as they descended into the depths of the Earth. And then it was Lexa’s turn. Gustus all but threw her into the hole before he jumped inside. Lexa had just enough time as she soared through the air to look back and see the few warriors that didn’t rush forward already beginning sweep the ground and it took Lexa just enough time to realise that they hid the tracks before she hit something soft, something firm, something tensed and not so unwelcome.

As the last of the warriors swept inside the hidden door sealed shut. Darkness swallowed them whole and Lexa felt herself shivering at the sudden drop in temperature, she found herself trying to gather the heat of whoever it was that had caught her in strong arms, if only because she didn’t quite like the foreboding that had taken hold of her heart as she realised there was truly no escape now.

The scraping of metal against stone filled the air, and as it echoed out around them Lexa realised they must be inside a cave system, something of stone, of rock. And just as she began to wonder what that sound was light exploded around them. A fire cast its glow far, the colour a vibrant orange as it bounced off surface after surface. Light curved upwards, it seemed to crash down upon them and send their shadows so deep into the earth that they bled into the depths that were void of light.

Tiles of off white, cracked and chipped, could be seen, and as Lexa’s eyes adjusted to the new light she realised that what she now found herself in was a tunnel that had once been a network of transportation that had taken people from destination to destination before the collapse of civilisation. Even the remnants of metal tracks could be seen on the ground, their form twisted, beaten and rusted to the years of neglect.

But as her gaze carried from thing to thing, she found herself looking at the hand that had held her steady, whose grasp on her wrist was awkwardly tender despite the strength she could feel. To her horror she realised the hand was grey, was almost a deep blue in the firelight, and that at times seemed to be translucent as the firelight hit it at the right angle to exposed the black veins that ran under the skin.

Lexa shivered, she gasped through the gag in her mouth and she straightened herself and took as confident a step back as she could as she realised Heda had been the one to break her fall, that the reaper had embraced her and kept her steady. But Lexa stumbled as she crashed into Gustus who stood behind her, the man’s body an immovable wall that did little to support her weight as she tripped. A barely audible chuckle was the only thing to ring out as Gustus reached down and lifted Lexa by the upper arm and set her on her feet.

“Remove her gag,” Heda said quietly as she reached out and snared a torch Ontari had been holding.

And so Gustus hooked a finger into her mouth and pulled the gag free. Lexa groaned as her jaw clicked and she tried to rid her mouth of the bitter tasting gag that had made it far too hard to keep herself from drooling. But no matter the awkwardness of the drool now smearing her chin she was thankful for the gag’s removal.

“Where’s Bellamy?” Lexa said, but she didn’t exactly expect an answer.

“Near,” Heda answered with something close to curiosity in her tone.

“What are you going to do with us?” and Lexa didn’t know why all of a sudden she found herself feeling confident, she didn’t know why all of a sudden she felt like she could get away with asking questions. But she thought, or at least hoped, that if they had brought her this far, if they had let her live this long, that asking a simple question or two would be acceptable.

“You are the enemy,” Heda said simply. “You came from the sky. And now I must study you,” each word came out with a drip of some emotion Lexa couldn’t pinpoint, but whatever it was made her shiver even more, the firelight from the multiple torches burning doing little to keep her warm.

Lexa found herself taking half step after half step back as Heda approached her. And not for the first time Lexa felt like a trapped animal, a hunted prey that had been cornered, driven into a trap with no escape. And before she really knew what was happening Lexa felt her back press against the hard and cold tile of the tunnel’s wall, warriors boxing her in and Heda standing mere breaths in front of her.

An agonisingly slow drip echoed out. The sound was wet, it was moist, deep and it seemed to wriggle into the very core of Lexa’s mind. The darkness that had once been consumed by the flame now seemed to swallow the light as it enveloped her and as Lexa’s breath began to shallow, as her pulse began to quicken, she felt the empty darkness of the tunnel consuming her mind, her body and her breath.

The face that looked at her terrified her, it made her recoil in disgust, in fear, in apprehension. The grey flesh was mottled in the dark. It seemed to bruise, to purple, deepen in colour and Lexa couldn’t shake the image of death, she couldn’t shake the image of lifelessness and she couldn’t ignore the subtle smirk of cold eyes that held her gaze with such intensity that it made her want to lash out, to do something to defend, to put space and distance between her and the _creature_ that looked at her like she was a plaything ready to be used.

Heda’s face neared hers until Lexa’s vision couldn’t focus on it anymore, it grew so close that the coldness of Heda’s flesh could almost be felt, and as Lexa’s breath stilled and as her mind screamed out for her to do something, she stiffened, she stilled and her mind froze.

She had to be mistaken, she had to have sensed wrong. And she knew her mind was playing tricks on her for she was sure Heda took in a shallow sniff, her head tilted ever so slightly as she seemed to take access to Lexa’s bare throat and she inhaled a deep breath that sent a quivering cold into Lexa’s body.

But before Lexa could examine, before her mind could comprehend, Heda stepped back and let the light engulf her once more.

“She smells,” Heda said simply. “Provide a bath for her, Ontari.”

And with that Heda turned on her heels and let the light of the torch held in her hands guide her forward as she descended into the depths of the tunnels.


	11. Chapter 11

“What the fuck do you mean _missing?”_ Anya hissed into the mouthpiece.

There was a blubbering mess of static that echoed out around the command centre and it was all Anya could do to not reach through the radio with whatever magical powers she would will into existence in that very moment to wrangle life from the idiot currently speaking to her.

There was a scuffle as someone seemed to reach for the radio, there were cussed words and something that sounded distinctly like a slap before the sound of someone else taking in a deep breath to compose themselves before speaking.

“Hi,” the voice said, and this one was female, tinged with hints of fatigue but coloured with a sharpness that seemed to at least _sound_ smarter than the first speaker. “We’ve got a problem.”

“I gathered,” Anya said as she brought her fist up to her forehead in an attempt to kill the headache she already felt forming. “What happened?”

“We were attacked,” the woman answered.

“By who? Those reapers?”

“Yeah,” the reply came.

Anya turned to look at Kane who studied the map displayed on the main command table in front of them, his brows furrowed, the barest hints of sweat beading at his temples as his eyes moved from image to image in front of him.

“Raven,” Kane said. “You’re sure it was reapers?”

“One hundred percent,” the woman — Raven — answered. “We met with Carl. Others from Mount Weather. We think these reapers got wind of our meeting and tried to stop it. We think Lexa and Bellamy must have noticed something and were taken.”

“Where?” Anya cut in.

“We’re looking,” Raven answered. “We have scouting parties out with some from Mount Weather’s security detail.”

Jackson leant close to Anya’s ear before whispering, “no bodies, Anya. They could still be alive.”

At least that was something, and so Anya tried to fight back the anger that seemed to be bubbling just under the surface.

“Now I don’t want to sound too pushy,” Raven continued. “But we could definitely use you guys down here.”

“We’re working on it, Raven,” Sinclair said from the other side of the table. “We’re three Earth rotations out before our orbit will align enough for us to get everyone down.”

“Great,” Raven said, and from her tone Anya could tell Raven was smiling. “Look, Carl’s been real helpful. We’ll hold the camp secure, if anything it’ll be good to have an outpost to give us eyes and ears of the surrounding forests. But we’re blind out here.”

“We understand, Raven,” Kane said and Anya glanced up at the man to see his arms folding across his chest and a frown even more firmly etched across his face.

“And we’re still searching for Lexa and Bellamy,” Raven continued. “But it doesn’t sound good,” and Anya bristled at that. “Everything we know about these reapers means they don’t take prisoners. Or at least not for long.”

“Understood,” Kane said.

And so discussion began to turn to logistics, to how many people would need to stay at the camp at any given time to keep it secure, to how food sources were being cared for, and any other number of things Anya tuned out.

But Anya had heard enough, partly because she didn’t quite care for much more than ensuring Lexa was found quite literally in one piece, and in part because her headache seemed to be coming on with more intensity with each passing second. She looked pointedly at Kane and thanked whatever deity she could think of as he read her silent request before nodding his head towards the exit.

Anya stepped away from the table, tucked her hands in her pockets and didn’t care that the scowl upon her face was still firmly plastered across her features as she let the command centre’s doors slide open for her.

Nothing was wrong with the ventilation system in the command centre, but for some reason the air Anya breathed in felt more fresh and less stuffy. Perhaps it was placebo, perhaps it was actually the Ark slowly dying, but whatever it was Anya knew it wouldn’t be a problem for much long—

“Hey?”

Anya startled as her thoughts were interrupted. She looked to her left to find a young woman standing sheepishly aside, both hands stuffed into her pockets, and her lip worried between her teeth.

“Can I help you?” Anya said, but recognition dawned on her as soon as the woman pushed off from the wall she had been leaning against.

“My name’s Octavia,” the woman said, but Anya had already gathered that. “I—” Octavia seemed to pause as if unsure of how to broach the subject, or perhaps to gather whatever courage she could.

But as Anya took in the younger woman, she found herself feeling just a little sympathy for the woman who had effectively become persona non grata through no action of her own.

“Yes,” Anya said simply. “And no.”

“Yes?” Octavia’s eyes turned puzzled. “No?”

“Yes the rumours are true. Your brother—” Anya found the word just a little odd upon her tongue, “is missing. No, we haven’t found him yet.”

Octavia’s eyes closed as if Anya’s words had settled whatever worries had formed in her mind and for just the briefest of moments Anya wondered if that was what she had looked like in the command centre, if only because she recognised that Octavia clung to as much fruitless hope for her brother’s safety as she did Lexa’s.

It was foolish, Anya thought, to take this woman under her wing, it was foolish to even talk to her, if only because there were so many on the Ark who she knew still secretly thought Octavia’s existence an affront to their very society. But no one should blame Octavia for simply being born.

And so Anya knew she would probably regret whatever it was she was next to do.

“Come with me, Octavia.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke walked the long tunnels underground, her mind elsewhere, her shadows long. The barely audible sounds of murmurings could soon be heard as they bounced off tunnel wall after tunnel wall and she knew she was close to bumping into the first of her army hidden underground.

Gustus walked behind her, the beast of a man always unnervingly quiet with each step he took. But a shadow falling across her path broke her from her thoughts and she looked up to find her father standing in front of her.

“The prisoner is secure, Heda,” he said, his voice quiet as he bowed his head slightly.

“Good,” and Clarke nodded to the other warriors who stood nearby, their bodies illuminated by the glow of torches burning brightly. “Walk with me.”

Clarke began reorganising her thoughts, she began thinking over every detail she knew and she catalogued problem solved and problem still to be dealt with into their own little corners of her mind. Before too long Clarke ducked into an empty room and Gustus took place at the door as her father stepped inside before closing the door.

“Has he spoken?” Clarke asked.

“No,” Jake replied as he took a seat in an old wooden chair. “We have not begun beating him yet.”

“Do not beat him just yet,” Clarke said, and she found her voice seemed weary for some reason.

Jake bowed his head before curiosity took hold in his gaze.

“And the leader?”

“She knows more,” Clarke answered. “She will be the one to talk of the two.”

“What of the Mountain Men?” Jake asked. “Reapers?”

“Ryder is hunting the pack we saw earlier,” Clarke answered. “If they request help you may send reinforcements,” and Clarke took a moment to consider the risk of too many warriors stalking the forests. “But only when it is dark.”

“I understand,” Jake replied with his own weary smile.

“You grow restless, father,” Clarke said then, and she watched from where she leant against the wall to find her father stifle a yawn before rollings his shoulders.

“Hiding underground is an unfamiliar beast,” he answered. “Many warriors understand why, yet they are eager for a fight,” Clarke didn’t blame any of them for that, but she wouldn’t risk losing everything before the war even begun.

“What of your warriors rotated outside?” she asked.

“Happy for fresh air,” he said. “Understanding of their duty to return underground.”

Clarke smiled then, if only because her father always seemed to find the most political of words to describe things she would find insulting coming from any other.

“I will have Indra prepare a feast for your warriors,” Clarke said as she pushed off from the wall and stepped towards her father.

“And my warriors will eat it.”

Jake stood too, whatever weariness he had felt pushed aside as whatever levity they had shared shifted into seriousness as Clarke walked to the door.

“This woman,” Clarke began. “She cares for her people.”

“She is their leader,” Jake replied. “She would be a poor leader if she did not.”

“We will use that to our advantage,” Clarke said as she stepped out of the room and nodded to Gustus who fell into step beside her. “Do not harm the man. But we will use that threat to gain her compliance.”

“And if she does not comply?” Jake asked.

“She will,” Clarke said, and she didn’t know why she felt so strongly. “But if she does not we will capture more of her people,” and Clarke nodded to a pair of scouts she saw walking to the nearest exit, their faces painted in the darks of Trikru colours, and their bodies laden with weapon should they come face to face with reaper or mountain man alike, “I do not think they are the same as the Mountain Men.”

“But you think they are allied with them?” Jake asked.

Clarke took a moment to consider her father’s question before she shook her head just once.

“Not yet,” Clarke said eventually. “And we must stop that from happening, either through this leader, or through their destruction.”

And so Clarke stifled a yawn and she continued walking, but in the back of her mind she found herself thinking that a bath would do her good.

 

* * *

 

Lexa couldn’t exactly pinpoint when fear turned into frustration, but she thought it sometime after she had stumbled on a piece of stone for yet another time. She had lost count of the number of times her foot had hit some unseen piece of metal, or had slipped on loose rock. She had lost count of how many times she had come to a crossroads only to be forced to guess which way to turn as Ontari seemed all too happy to walk behind her and watch as she helplessly stumbled through the dark.

Lexa had even considered how much trouble she’d get into if she turned and lashed out at the woman. She imagined the satisfaction of her fist connecting with Ontari’s chin, or her hands wrapping around her throat and wringing the life out of her.

But truthfully, Lexa understood she would fare little better than a mouse taking on a cat. But it would be nice. It would be satisfying. It would be so very welc—

She tripped, she stumbled and she cursed and spluttered out obscenity and anger. A laugh echoed out around her and Lexa glowered, she glared and her anger took hold as she pushed herself up to her feet and spun around to face Ontari.

If Lexa’s hands weren’t still tied together she would have them fisted in front of her ready to fight, to lash, to break Ontari’s perfect little nose.

Ontari smiled something victorious and Lexa’s eyes drifted down as Ontari’s free hand moved down to the visible knife tucked into her belt.

“Try it,” Ontari said, her tone sickly sweet as she bared her teeth and let the flame of the torch cast gruesome shadows across the scars etched into her face.

Lexa fought for control of her breathing as she steadied herself and tried not to let emotion take hold. She was under no assumption that fighting Ontari would be a good idea. She knew anyone able to command the beasts would be unable to defend themselves, and she was under no false assumptions that anyone who willingly put themselves through the painful scarification that adorned her face would be easy to submit to any pain Lexa would be able to inflict.

And so Lexa closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing enough that she could speak without making a fool of herself.

“Where am I supposed to go?” she asked as her eyes opened just in time to see the barest flickers of disappointment wash across the woman’s face. “Tell me,” and Lexa gestured over her shoulder. “All we’ve done for what seems like hours is walk in circles,” she tried not to let her exasperation fill her tone too much, and she was sure whatever this was, was a game, something intended to break her mind and to make her more pliable to whatever she was sure she was to experience soon.

But Ontari seemed to sigh, perhaps to deflate just a little at whatever seemed to fill her mind for she stepped forward, took hold of Lexa’s upper arm and spun her around so that she faced the way she had been walking.

Ontari’s grip was strong, almost painfully so, but Lexa didn’t complain. They began walking forward, the light of the single flaming torch enough to guide their way. Lexa was even thankful that Ontari stopped her from tripping at times.

Before Lexa even realised though, she began to hear the sounds of voices drifting through tunnels, she began to hear quiet murmurings and she found her skin beginning to crawl, she found her mind beginning to recoil to the dark.

It hadn’t been lost on her that these reapers, or these master of reapers, seemed to live underground, that they hid away and came up to the surface with the sole intention of causing mayhem and destruction.

Lexa didn’t know what she would expect, she didn’t know what she would find when their dungeon was revealed. Maybe it would be full of violence, rotting corpses, others so deathly grey that they seemed more walking dead than living ghost. Maybe she would find abominations, beasts, reapers and foul savages fighting, clashing together, fighting over the spoils of whatever they could find.

That thought sent a jolt of panic deep into Lexa’s core, if only because she knew, she understood what _that_ could mean. But she stamped down the panic, she stamped down the fear, if only because she couldn’t do anything about it.

Not yet, at least.

They turned another corner, Lexa slipped on a wet metal track on the ground and Ontari caught her in time to lift her to her feet as she came face to face with a spear pointed directly at her chest.

“Stand aside, Tris,” Ontari said, her tone less full of violence than it had been before.

It took Lexa another second of stunned recognition before she realised that this person who held a spear to her chest was a child, a girl. Her face was youthful, brown eyes narrowed in suspicion and thick brown hair braided back from her face.

The girl lowered her spear and stepped aside, her gaze never wavering from Lexa’s, and not for the first time Lexa found her mind slamming from one scenario to another as she registered new information after new information.

The fact that a child, a girl who couldn’t even be fully into her teenage years, was what seemed like a fully blooded warrior, whose face had shown signs of battle, and whose hands had gripped a spear so comfortably in her hands, and who was willing to kill made Lexa’s skin crawl. And this new information, this new revelation made her realise that the reapers and these savages who commanded them were evil, were vile, were something that her people needed to be told about, warned about, if only because she understood.

She even remembered Carl telling her of his wife, who had been out searching for supplies only to be killed and left to be found by whatever desperate search party was sent to help.

And that made her skin crawl.

Lexa swallowed, she tried to reign in her thoughts and she began listening more intently to the sounds that became more and more clear the further she walked.

They turned yet another corner, and this one had more warriors standing nearby, each one’s hand on a weapon until they came into view. And then as they stepped aside, Lexa found her eyes widening and fear truly taking hold.

The warriors who had been guarding the last bend stepped aside to reveal the extent of this reaper civilisation underground.

What seemed like hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of warriors spilt out in front of Lexa. The tunnel they had walked through opened up into what could only be described as a central hub for all tunnels.

White tile cleaned and glowing scattered the red of the firelight far and wide. High walls stretched up so far overhead that Lexa knew herself to be buried so incredibly deep into the ground. The ceiling overhead was hidden by shadow as if the only thing keeping the dark at bay was the torches that continued to brave the depths of the underground. Tunnel entrances could be seen on wall after wall, each one leading somewhere amongst the twists and turns of what must be a grand spiderweb of networked passages.

But Lexa looked at the warriors, too. Each one seemed ferocious, seemed prepared and capable and willing to take limb from limb. Men and women sat around campfire, or stood, sparred, wrestled or jostled amongst themselves. Young children moved about too, some clearly under the tutelage of elders, some perhaps running errand after errand.

A mess of greens and browns and blacks adorned the bodies of most, the barest hints of whites upon a few.

And Lexa knew now what Carl had meant when he said the reapers ran in packs. If only because she could see that their numbers were so very more than anything she had anticipated.

Ontari began to march her forwards, each step she took echoing out around them, and Lexa could feel predatory eyes upon her. The skin on the back of her neck stood up and she realised that all those times in the forest when she had felt the same, was because she had been watched just the same.

Even her hands began to grow clammy as the sea of warriors parted for them as they walked. Lexa recoiled as some seemed to leer at her, she recoiled as some took longer than needed to move out of her way, their shared proximity enough to send shivers down her spine.

Lexa’s mouth grew dry, too, her tongue felt heavy and she was sure she would feint, she was sure she would collapse at any moment, each revelation sending her mind further and further into overdrive as she tried to consider what it all meant.

But as if on cue, as if spurred on by some unseen force, Lexa felt Ontari tug her down a tunnel and the gazes, the oppressive weight that had beat down upon her, lifted, it seemed to ebb and subside and she found herself able to breathe once more. Ontari didn’t seem to notice, or she simply didn’t care for she kept walking her forward until they came to a large wood door.

More warriors stood outside this one, and Lexa eyed them as surreptitiously as she dared.

“Heda demanded she bathe,” Ontari said to one who moved to stand in front of her.

He seemed to think it through for barely a second before stepping aside, and for a tiny second Lexa wondered where in the hierarchy Ontari sat. But she didn’t have long to think before the doors opened and Ontari shoved her inside.

Lexa hadn’t actually given much thought to what a reaper bath would entail. Perhaps she had wondered if it had merely been a colourful euphemism for a fiery death. She wondered if it would be a splash of freezing water, or a submersion into scolding heat. Or maybe even a roll in the mud considering what she had seen of the first reapers.

But whatever thoughts she had, whatever assumptions had been growing within her mind, it wasn’t what was now revealed to her.

Behind the doors was a large room. White tiles, these ones seemingly more ornate, more intricate, and certainly better cared for, tiled the floor, the walls, and presumably the ceiling. Candles were placed on the ground and followed the walls as they cascaded forwards and into the depths of the room.

Firelight bounced off tile, off imperfection and almost sparkled in the light. Steam so very thick filled the room and made it impossible for Lexa to see more than a few arm’s reaches in front of her, but from the sounds that slowly drifted over the sweetly scented steam, she could hear water, she could hear the bubble of heat.

“Clothes,” Lexa startled as Ontari sliced her hands free and dropped what she assumed to be fresh clothes at her feet before she abruptly turned and marched out the door.

And with that Lexa found herself staring at the entrance that slammed shut behind her.

Lexa swallowed thickly as she turned to look down at the clothes that now lay at her feet, and for a moment she tried to figure out just where and how Ontari had found clothes for her.

If Lexa hadn’t been experiencing some form of mental whiplash since coming to the ground, she certainly was now. The bathing house for lack of a better word, was so very different to anything she had expected. It seemed almost lovingly constructed, cared for, prepared and ornate. Even the scents that wafted on the steam contrasted so very distinctly with what Lexa had seen of the reapers and savages.

Perhaps on cue Lexa became acutely aware of her day’s travel. She lifted her arm to her nose and sniffed at the clothes she wore only to be just a little repulsed at what greeted her. Sweat, mud and any other unknown smells clung to her clothing and made her nose burn just a little.

Lexa looked back at the door. Part of her thought it must be a trick, that as soon as she shed her clothes that warriors would storm inside, do something to humiliate _,_ steal from or take. But another part of her thought that the simple fact of being offered a bath was enough of a torture, enough of a game to make her feel pity for these savages.

Lexa turned her gaze to the clothes at her feet. She reached down and found that the clothes were soft, warm from being laid on the white tile, and they seemed sturdy and delicate and intricate all at the same time. Their fabrics seemed natural, expertly crafted and so very much nicer than the clothes she currently wore.

And if Lexa was to die? At least she’d die comfortable.

Lexa took a breath to steady her beating heart before she shed her clothes as quickly as she could. She hopped on one foot and cursed her lack of thought as she came to pull her pants off only to realise her boots still remained, and she was thankful Ontari and the other guards had seen fit to give her the privacy to fail in solitude.

And so Lexa found herself stripped naked amongst the rising steam. Her vision could hardly see more than a few paces in front of her and she kicked her dirty clothes into a corner only to grimace and to feel her face flush as they left a dirty streak in their wake.

But the thought of bathing, of really bathing, of not having to watch over her shoulder lest a reaper or a river monster attack, called her forward.

Lexa took a cautious step forward, gaze peering painfully in the haze in the hopes of finding where the bathtub or water was. She took another step forward, her toes careful upon the slippery tile underfoot. She reached out a hand and she stepped forward one last time before her toes touched heat.

And she gasped.

Water touched her toe and it was hot, not quite scolding, but enough to steal her breath with the barest of brushes. As Lexa’s vision adjusted to the steam she found herself standing at the edge of what seemed like a small pool of bubbling heat. The far wall was still hidden by the scented mist in front of her but she could see enough to realise that the tile dipped violently downwards, and that searing water took its place.

The water was milky, murky with salts she could just barely spy at the bottom of the water and it called to her, made her tired muscles want to leap in, dive head first and be swallowed whole.

Lexa took one last look behind her to find that she could hardly see the door, and so, with her mind made up she turned back to the water and stepped down into its hea—

“Careful of the step.”

Lexa was never one to scream when frightened or startled.

But in that moment?

She did.


	12. Chapter 12

There were two things known to Lexa in that very moment. The first was that she was very much naked and bare to the world, and the second was that she had no idea where the voice had come from.

Heat flushed her cheeks, her heartbeat seemed to be screaming in her chest but for some reason she couldn’t move, couldn’t take a step back or a step forward and for the first time in her entire life she knew exactly what a mouse cornered by a cat must feel like.

As if on cue the quietest of chuckles broke the silence and Lexa’s eyes snapped to the far side of the pool as a shimmering silhouette began to come into view. Lexa’s mouth felt dry and she didn’t know what to do as she realised Heda remained almost entirely submerged within the searing heat. Water lapped at the woman’s chin, her hair fanned out around her shoulders as it was possessed by the water and steam swirled around her as if commanded by some unseen force.

In that moment, as Heda’s eyes seemed to take her in, Lexa realised just how bare she was. She knew she blushed as she moved one of her arms across her chest, the other placed awkwardly down below her waist in an awkward attempt at regaining some modesty.

It wasn’t even so much that she was embarrassed about being naked, that Heda had seen all. She was used to bathing amongst others in the Ark’s shared facilities. But it was the fact that she had screamed, that she had made a fool of herself and that Heda watched her with predatory glint in her eyes.

“You would be more comfortable if you entered the water,” Heda said quietly, and Lexa could still hear the hints of mirth colouring the woman’s tone as she came to a gentle stop somewhere in the pool’s centre.

Lexa took a second to consider what could go wrong with sharing a bath with a reaper. She considered what could happen if she refused, and she wondered what could happen if she were to turn, to try to get away from Heda. But as she looked down at her body, at the sweat, mud, dirt and days worth of grime that still covered her flesh, she knew a bath would do her good.

And so Lexa took in a deep breath, awkwardly shuffled to the edge of the pool and began to step down.

Lexa’s toes curled as the searing heat of the water enveloped her, she let out a groan somewhere between pleasure and pain as her tired muscles twitched and she awkwardly lowered her leg deeper and deeper into the water in search of the heat.

Her movements were made doubly awkward by the fact she still tried to cover herself and tried to regain some control over the situation as Heda continued to look at her. But eventually Lexa’s leg dipped low enough that the step she searched for gave her foot a place to stand. The water now lapped at her upper thigh, it made her skin pebble and she took in just another deep breath before she stepped down with her other leg and inelegantly submerged herself into the heat. The water stole her breath, it made her lungs constrict and she tried not to flinch as she came to sit on the step as heat settled over her upper chest.

Lexa realised then that she had directed her vision away from Heda and that she couldn’t meet the woman’s gaze without feeling her cheeks flush. But she fought down whatever embarrassment she felt as she made herself look the other woman in the eyes.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but still, it seemed bizarre, so very foreign and at times gruesome, unappealing and terrifying. The pale grey of her flesh had become flushed, had become just a little darker with the heat. Heda’s cheeks seemed a shade darker and it made the piercing blue of her eyes stand out and seem so very vibrant. Even her hair as it fanned out across the water seemed to radiate a molten gold as she continued to let the water lap at her chin.

The silence began to stretch for an awkwardly long time then, and as Lexa sat on the step, and as her body grew more and more accustomed to the heat, she found herself fidgeting, she found herself unsure of what to do or where to look as Heda continued to study her, continue to take in anything and everything she saw.

“What is your name?” Heda said suddenly, and Lexa heard a curiosity in the woman’s voice, she heard an intrigue and something she couldn’t quite place.

Lexa wet her lips and tried to think of a reason not to answer. But she couldn’t really see a reason why giving up her name would and could be troublesome. She was already starkly naked and sharing a bath with a reaper that she assumed was just as bare as she was a few mere paces from where she sat.

“Lexa,” she said and she hated the fact that her voice trembled just a little.

“Lexa,” Heda said quietly, the way she pronounced her name clicking just a little as if the woman chewed the letters in her mouth and savoured the sounds that broke free.

“What’s yours?” Lexa asked, and she didn’t know why she assumed Heda wasn’t her name, and she didn’t know why she assumed she could get away with asking such a question. But she did.

A smile slowly began to creep across Heda’s lips, and Lexa tried not to grimace at the way her teeth glowed and contrasted terribly with the dark of her gums.

“Clarke.”

It was an odd name for a woman, Lexa thought, but she’d keep that to herself.

“What are you going to do with me, Clarke?” Lexa asked, and she tried not to sound too worried, and she tried not to sound too confrontational. But as she continued to feel Clarke’s gaze pierce into her very body, she thought herself at less risk with each passing second.

“I have not yet decided,” Clarke said with a shrug, a single well defined shoulder raised out of the water the only movement she made.

“Are you going to kill me?” Lexa asked.

“No,” Clarke answered and her voice seemed to waver somewhere between chuckle and sigh.

“Are you going to let me live?” Lexa asked, and she knew Clarke understood the difference between not being killed, and actually being allowed to live.

Clarke paused though, and Lexa found that she could almost see the woman’s thoughts moving behind her piercing blue gaze. But then Clarke’s head tilted to the side, and if it had been any other situation Lexa would have found it funny just how openly puzzled Clarke appeared in that moment.

“Where do you come from?” Clarke asked

It didn’t surprise Lexa when Clarke asked. She had expected to be questioned, to be interrogated for information. What did surprise her though was the way this information was seemingly trying to be discovered. But she wouldn’t complain about not getting beaten. Sharing a bath with a reaper must have been far better than the alternative. Even if she found it so very awkward.

“Space,” Lexa said simply, and she gestured upwards with a hand before letting it sink back into the water.

Something between understanding and curiosity coloured Clarke’s gaze and Lexa found herself feeling like Clarke understood more than she let on, or at least grasped more than what Lexa could have ever assumed.

“You are not allied with the Mountain?” the question gave Lexa pause, if only because she assumed Clarke spoke of Mount Weather. Despite how relaxed the question was, Lexa assumed whatever answer she gave could change her people’s path to salvation. But as she looked at Clarke, as she looked at the woman who appeared at times to be more corpse than living being, she thought lying would be sensed, she thought lying would be considered more insulting and dangerous than telling the truth.

“We didn’t know people lived on the ground,” Lexa began quietly, and she shifted on the step just a little in the hopes of shaking the intensity of Clarke’s gaze.

“Why?” Clarke asked.

Lexa didn’t know how much Clarke knew of what had happened. She didn’t think much considering the reapers had seemingly regressed socially. Clarke might not even know why her people had become what they were. But Lexa knew that simply not knowing something was no measure of one’s intelligence. And more importantly, she didn’t think Clarke stupid.

And so Lexa settled for telling her the truth.

“When the world ended, when the bombs fell, some of us lived up in space,” and she watched as Clarke nodded just once. “We thought all life ended on Earth. There was too much radiation for anything to live.”

“Radiation?” Clarke asked, and intrigue coloured her tone.

Lexa paused as she tried to think of how to explain.

“It’s like acid fog,” Lexa said. “But invisible.”

Clarke nodded an understanding.

“We didn’t think anyone could survive on the Earth,” Lexa continued. “So we lived up there.”

“With tech,” Clarke said, and this time Lexa knew Clarke understood more than previously believed.

“Yes,” Lexa said.

“Why did you come down?” Clarke asked.

“Our home was breaking,” Lexa said. “We needed to come down or we’d die.”

Lexa didn’t think she needed to go into the intricacies of the Ark’s oxygen recyclers slowly failing. And from the way understanding took hold of Clarke’s expression, she knew the woman understood enough.

“And what of the Mountain?” Clarke asked.

Lexa paused, if only to gather her thoughts and to figure out how best to answer the question without her head being removed from her shoulders. But she thought telling the truth to be the best course of action. Perhaps even the only course of action she had left.

“We didn’t know about them. Until the acid fog. One of them saved my life,” an Lexa found herself grimacing at the flash of hate that flowed across Clarke’s face. But she wouldn’t lie for she knew the only thing she had going for her in that moment was the truth, was showing Clarke that she would answer truthfully and be helpful. “He told us about your people,” Lexa continued quietly, and she tried to shirk away from the intensity in Clarke’s gaze.

“He told you of my people?” Clarke said, her voice filled with derision and sarcasm now. “What did he tell you?”

Lexa took in a steadying breath before continuing.

“He told us you were reapers,” again that flash of disgust filled Clarke’s gaze. “He told us you kill his people when they scout for supplies. He told us that you’ll ki—”

Clarke surged forward with such speed, with such ferocity that Lexa yelped, she pushed back only to hit the back of her head against the step and splutter as searing water crashed over her face. Somehow, someway, Clarke had closed the distance between them faster than Lexa could have imagined. Anger contorted the woman’s face, it made her seem far more savage, far more grotesque and gruesome than before and Lexa’s breathing began to quicken with each passing second.

But just as quickly as Clarke had exploded, the woman settled, the woman gentled. And Lexa swallowed, she found her mouth drying and she found her mind turning blank.

It took a second, but as the water’s crashing waves calmed, Lexa realised just how close Clarke had come. Lexa didn’t notice it at first, but as her beating heart began to ease, she realised Clarke all but sat in her lap. The woman’s arms were braced against either side of her head, the water came to just below her shoulders and Lexa could feel the distinct softness of Clarke’s inner thighs pressed against the outsides of her knees.

“I am not a reaper,” Clarke said quietly, and Lexa couldn’t help but to shy away from just how close Clarke’s face was to hers in that moment. “The reapers are not my people,” and Lexa almost whimpered as Clarke shifted, as she slowly began to rise in the water before her, and she whimpered as the delicateness of Clarke’s skin slid over hers, as the friction sent a jolt of arous—

_Oh god._

Clarke came to stand before her as water slowly cascaded down her body, down the toned muscle that wove valleys of shimmering and glistening flesh. Beads of liquid heat settled in the curve of her flesh and it made Lexa’s mind go blank.

And it was awkward.

It was so fucking awkward.

Lexa didn’t know if she should look straight ahead at Clarke’s chest. She didn’t know if she should look up at her, the angle somehow more intimate than it had any right to be.

Clarke stood in front of her, the water coming to rest just below her waist and Lexa’s mind was blank. With Clarke leaning over her, and with her hands braced against either side of Lexa’s head, she couldn’t help but to stare.

Clarke was very much a woman. So womanly in fact that Lexa found herself unable to comprehend much more than the feel of Clarke’s skin as it brushed against hers.

Clarke leant forward even more than, enough that the curve of her breast brushed against Lexa’s own chest. The worst part was that Lexa actually fucking whimpered. She didn’t mean to, she didn’t intend to make a sound, but the situation she found herself in was so incredibly unexpected that the only part of her brain that seemed to be working was the animalistic part that reacted to pure visual stimuli.

But Clarke’s lips came to brush against the shell of her ear and Lexa shivered, she closed her eyes and tried to take in a deep breath as Clarke settled over her body for just a second. Lexa could feel Clarke’s breath ghost against the side of her neck, she could feel Clarke’s body brush against hers in the most tantalising of ways. They were both so close that Lexa had to force her hands to grip her own thighs to stop herself doing something so very stupid.

“I am not a reaper,” Clarke whispered so quietly that Lexa almost thought she imagined it.

Lexa’s eyes opened and she watched as Clarke stepped back with such elegance that it seemed to Lexa like she was gliding, floating through the water until she came to rest in the centre of the pool. But this time she stood, this time she didn’t let the water lap at her chin.

Lexa realised the centre of the pool was only deep enough to rest at hip level, and she tried to force her eyes to not wander, to not dip below Clarke’s shoulders, to not follow the water that continued to drip a tantalising path downwards.

From the corner of Lexa’s eye she could see a scar that cut into Clarke’s chest, she could even spy other smaller scars that etched their way through the woman’s body, but she didn’t let herself study if only because she didn’t want to be caught staring.

“You do not know everything,” Clarke said quietly then, and Lexa managed to get her breathing under control enough to clear her throat as she lowered herself into the water until it brushed against her lips, if only because she wanted to disappear, she wanted to explode into a million pieces just to escape how awkwardly she had handled the situation.

“I am not a reaper,” Clarke said again, and Lexa’s eyes widened when Clarke lifted her hand out of the water to reveal she held a knife.

For the briefest of moments Lexa wondered just where Clarke had been hiding it before her eyes widened further.

“Look,” Clarke continued and Lexa’s lips parted in shock as Clarke placed the blade against her palm before slicing it across in one elegant motion.

Clarke held her hand upward, palm facing Lexa. The cut was deep enough that Lexa could see sinew, veins and tendons. Black blood spilled from the wound, it coated Clarke’s hand and it dripped into the water. The colour made Lexa recoil, it made her flinch, and she didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know what to d—

She gasped. Before her very eyes the wound began to pull at the edges, it began to twist, stretch and stitch itself together. Lexa shook her head, she tried to clear her vision for she was sure her eyes deceived her. But the harder she looked, the closer she peered, the only thing her eyes saw was the wound as it slowly healed to leave nothing but the black of Clarke’s blood in its wake.

“What are you?” Lexa whispered as her eyes took in the blood that coated Clarke’s arm, that dripped down her body and splashed into the steaming water with a quiet drip.

“A nightblood,” Clarke said as she slowly began to move forward once more.

Lexa tried to force her eyes to remain glued to Clarke’s face as the woman moved forward, the motion of each step tantalisingly teasing Lexa’s eyes downwards.

“A nightblood?” and Lexa found the name fitting despite not knowing exactly what a nightblood was.

“The Mountain hunts my kind,” Clarke said quietly as she came to stand in front of Lexa once more. But thankfully there was just enough space that Lexa’s vision wasn’t filled with Clarke’s naked body. “The reapers are not my people,” Clarke continued. “They are captured by the Mountain, tortured, enslaved, their minds broken until they can not think for themselves.”

Lexa remembered how savage, how ghastly, how beastly the reapers had been, and at least that part of what Clarke said lined up with her experiences.

“Why?” Lexa whispered, and she tried to juggle the things Carl had told her with the things Clarke now said.

“To make us fear them,” Clarke answered simply. “We out number the Mountain Men ten to one,” she and sneered ever so slightly, the expression juxtaposing so vividly with the curves of her body on display. “They can not risk losing their numbers to us so they steal our people and break their minds.”

“Why can’t you get along?” Lexa whispered.

The laugh that answered her question almost seemed tinged with pity before Clarke lowered herself so that they were at eye level, the water they shared both lapping at their chins.

“What a foolish question,” it wasn’t so much insult, nor was it something Lexa thought meant to sound so arrogant. Yet it did, and she found an indignation beginning to rise.

Clarke lifted her hand from the water and began to slowly turn it in a lazy arc between them. It took Lexa a moment to realise that Clarke was drawing the water from the centre of the pool to them, and with it the black of her blood that didn’t seem to disperse as it should.

“Nightblood is a gift,” Clarke said quietly as she looked down at the black of her blood that seemed almost oil-like in substance as it gathered atop the water’s surface between them. “It gives me life,” she said. “It gives others life,” and Lexa grimaced as the image of Clarke slicing open her palm took centre stage in her mind. “Years ago the Mountain Men discovered nightblood,” and something between sadness and anger began to colour Clarke’s eyes. “They captured one of my kind. Tortured her, bled her dry and used her gift as a source for life,” and at that Lexa’s mind turned to the vial of black liquid she had seen Carl inject himself with.

And with that the pieces all fell into place.


End file.
